


Stars in A Sky of Blood and Blue

by Nehszriah



Series: The March of Kasterborous and Gallifrey [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Clara and Martha want to share grandkids, Danny and Martha as parents, F/F, F/M, Fantasy AU, Fluff, Gen, Kidfic, Twelve and Clara as parents, and a cape--he also has a cape, and being proud of them for living their lives, contains OC-heavy chapters, goofy shit parents do, nobility au, parents parenting older kids, some listed characters are more like cameos, sometimes things get dangerous, the AU where Twelve has Richelieu's facial hair, will add more characters as time goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 149,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4885465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to In Want of An Heir: the lives of the Marquis Johan and Marchioness Clara, together the Twelfth Doctor of Gallifrey and Kasterborous, and their children throughout the years. [nobility/kids Whouffaldi AU; prior reading of IWoAH is recommended]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lena (I)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a direct sequel to my previous story In Want of An Heir. That being said, I highly recommend you read that one first before you read this one, or else you're missing out on a ton of context. These chapters are likely to be non-linear and of sporadic updates.

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, was the March of Kasterborous. It was a vast, hearty land with enduring peoples and folk traditions that stretched back beyond their association with King and Country. In the capital city of Gallifrey sat the ruling house; Lord Johan, Thirteenth Marquis of Kasterborous and Gallifrey, and his wife the Lady Clara were well known throughout the lands as an arranged and impossible match made most loving. Together they bore the duty of being the Twelfth Doctor, a folk title older than the marquisate that had never been shared before, until Johan decided to make his wife the embodiment of his symbolic second heart. They became legend, the Marquis and Marchioness, in both their love for one another and the way in which they ruled the march.

That story, however, is for a different time.

This story begins one day in Spring, shortly before the sixth anniversary of the Marquis and Marchioness's wedding. The Marchioness, having long been large with child, was finally in need of the midwife after nearly two weeks of her husband fussing over her and putting all affairs of the state on hold. Her first pains came during a storm, with her finally delivering after the thunder quieted and it had been raining steadily for a whole day. The Marquis stayed in his bedchamber, which had been converted into the nursery much to everyone's surprise, waiting with sweaty hands and a nervous stomach as he listened to every effort his wife made. Eventually he heard a child— _his_ child—cry out in protest and he slumped into a nearby chair. The intense calm that came afterwards nearly lulled him to sleep, until the midwife entered the room.

"Sir?" was all she said. The Marquis jolted awake and stood up quickly, his cape sweeping behind him as he crossed the room and entered the bedchamber.

A wave of emotion washed over him as he stood just beyond the entrance, staring at the bed before him and its occupants. His wife was deathly pale and shaking as she sat upright with a bundle cradled in her arms. A closer inspection found that the bundle indeed held a newborn babe, pink and fresh and suckling milk with a grand ferocity, the sight of which made the Marquis freeze in place. It was a scene he never thought he'd see, even on the day he married, for back then he did not wish to risk watching another wife convulse to death while a child slipped away in his arms after refusing a nurse. He did not want that even for his worst enemy, which made the mother and babe, both alive and well, seem all the more beautiful and haunting.

"Are you… well…?" he asked nervously, nearly choking on his words. The Marchioness looked up at him and smiled weakly.

"Of course I am." She turned down to the child at her breast and sighed. "Look, it's your papa. He's come to visit us." Her breath was quiet and trembling—the lack of energy in her was apparent. The Marquis sat down at their side and kissed her on the brow.

"Thank you," he said, taking her hand in his. They both looked at one another, one tired from strain and the other from stress.

"Would you like to hold her?"

The Marquis blinked, his eyes growing wide and eyebrows rising at the very idea. "Would you like me to?"

"Yes, please," she nodded, pulling her shirt back over her chest. Watching as her husband awkwardly held out an arm, she passed him the newborn and did not pull away until the child was firmly in place.

Cautiously, the new father pressed a finger to his daughter's nose, making her squirm slightly. "What's her name?" he asked. His wife shook her head.

"I'm too tired to think," she admitted. "Please name her; I need to rest."

"…but, we should name her together, if you haven't already," he insisted, panicking. The Marchioness simply slid down the mattress until she was nestled into the bedding.

"I trust you," she said hazily. "I haven't slept in over two days. Just think about it until she needs to be fed again, okay?"

"Okay," he answered quietly. The Marquis watched as his wife happily went to sleep, leaving their daughter to him, the midwife, and the few maids that were bustling around the room cleaning up the odds and ends from the birth. The maids soon left, which allowed the midwife to tower over the Marquis.

"Milord? I think it's time to pass the child to me now," she said. He shook his head.

"Leave us," he requested. The Marquis stood up and began to pace the room, yet the midwife stayed.

"Sir, are you sure you know what you are doing?" she asked.

"I am meeting my daughter and heir—of course I know what I am doing," he replied. "Leave us, now." The midwife curtsied sourly and left. Once the door was closed and footsteps were no longer heard in the corridor, the Marquis sank down into an armchair to combat his shaky knees and vision blurred from tears. He glanced down at his daughter, only to find that she had yawned herself to sleep.

"Mama and Papa aren't the only ones that are tired, huh?" he asked. The baby wriggled weakly in his grasp, unable to move beyond what her blanket allowed. Rain hit the windowpanes in a sound that soothed the flutter in the Marquis's chest.

' _…now what?_ '

The new father looked around the room, not entirely sure of what to do. His newborn daughter needed a name, and his wife trusted him to come up with the perfect one after months of refusing to discuss in fear of laying a curse upon their unborn child. He was good at things like naming defense strategies and strongholds, not children who would end up growing into the leader of thousands of soldiers and even more smallfolk.

"Not only will you be a great Marchioness and a beloved Doctor, but you're also my daughter," he murmured to the sleeping child. He ran one of his long fingers over her wisps of hair affectionately. "You are the symbol of the love between your mama and me. You are the stars in our sky, and I want to do everything to protect you as you grow into a beautiful and awe-inspiring leader."

He paused momentarily, leaning back into his chair as he thought aloud. "You need a name that is both strong and gentle, one that can be a rallying cry or a soft whisper. It needn't be complicated nor plain, and should be _you_ most of all." A long silence filled the room as he stared at his child, the only noise being the sustained rain outside. Finally, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards and his teeth bared.

He knew his daughter's name.

Hours passed and the Marchioness slept on. Servants came in every so often to make sure the Marquis did not need sleep himself. Every time he would shake his head, though present his daughter proudly. Between servants checking in, the Marquis alternated between murmuring gentle poems and songs in the ceremonial tongue while he sat, and pacing around the room while humming. He was sitting, reciting old, odd words only the sleeping newborn could hear, when his wife finally woke.

"Hey…" the Marchioness said softly. The Marquis rose to his feet immediately and quickly crossed the room to sit on the side of the bed next to her.

"How are you feeling? Do you need to see the physician?" he asked. She shook her head slowly, her eyes still glazed over from exhaustion.

"I'm fine. How about you, Papa? Did you come up with a name while Mama slept?"

"That was the easy part—you did all the work, dearest," he said. The Marquis picked up his wife's hand and kissed the back of it, gazing into her eyes. He glanced back down at the child nestled in the crook of his arm and grinned. "Lena."

"Lena?" The Marchioness snapped awake, her whole body tensing. "Why ' _Lena'_?"

"It's an old Gallifreyan name," her husband explained. He returned his attention to their child and smiled softly. "In the beginning, there was only the sun. Night was black as pitch, and it was dangerous to go out. One night, a man prayed to his gods by the light of a fire. He wished nothing more than to see without the dangerous flame as he walked from his home to the stream behind his house for water. It would be useful for all—not just him—he reasoned, and soon the sky illuminated with a beautiful full moon and swirls of stars in the red sky."

The Marquis looked over at the Marchioness, to see how attentive she was. When he saw that her face remained glued to his, although quizzical, he continued. "When the man arrived home that night, he found his young son crying. The boy saw his mother and sister step outside and shimmer until they burst into a billion white pieces that flew up in the air and did not come down. He said his mother was the moon and his sister the stars. It was only then that the man realized what he had done: that he had broken his family for the benefit of walking at night without the aid of a flame. His wife's name was Luna, but his daughter was Lena. When we say people are 'the moon and stars in the sky', it's that legend we refer to."

"My mother was ' _Elena'_ ," the Marchioness said quietly. Her husband glanced over at her, seeing that her eyes were lowered to her hands as she played with a fingernail. "She died when I was small. Father and I don't talk about her, but that doesn't mean I love her any less. She was a good soul, who liked everyone, and we… we just miss her."

"Then ' _Lena'_ it is," he replied. The Marquis leaned forward and kissed his wife on the brow. "She is the stars in our sky that will light the way." He pulled back and saw there were tears streaming down the Marchioness's cheeks. "What's wrong? Are you sure you don't require the physician?"

"I'm sure," she replied. She pulled his face down towards hers and kissed him on the lips. It was then that the newborn started to squirm in her father's arm and began to emit a sharp, cracking, wail. The Marchioness reached over and slid the baby from her husband's arm to hers to let their child feed. "Hungry, aren't you?"

"Tuck in, Lena," the Marquis said, stroking her cheek gently. "One day you will be the Thirteenth Doctor of Kasterborous and Gallifrey, the Fourteenth Marchioness in service to the King. Grow big and strong and fierce so that no Dalek, no Cyberan, will dare stand in your way. Until then, Papa's here."

"…and what a lovely papa you have," the Marchioness added. She did not lift her head as her husband stood and walked around the bed, climbing in still in his cloak and boots and finery, so that he could wrap an arm around her waist and rest his chin upon her head. They were found like that a short while later, asleep in a cocoon of warmth and rest. The servant who found them woke the Marquis and Marchioness long enough to take the Lady Lena and put her in a nearby cot as her parents sank sleepily in one another's arms.

The next day the march was brimming with excitement as news of the much-anticipated birth spread like wildfire. Their future Marchioness was born, while the current one still breathed. It was certainly a day worth celebration.


	2. Papa, Lena, and the Mysterious Blooms

"Papa! Papa! Up! Up!"

Still drowsy, the Marquis felt tiny hands tugging on one of his in an attempt to drag him out of bed as he cracked his eyes open. He chuckled as he watched his daughter struggle to move his arm and lose her grip, tumbling backwards onto the floor. The toddler sniffled as she sat up, trying not to sob.

"Oh, don't cry now; Papa's up," the Marquis smirked. He rolled out of bed and scooped Lena off the floor, tickling her side to get her to laugh. He looked back at the bed—empty, for Clara was away visiting some pastures in the hills—and sighed. "Well, it looks like it's still the two of us today. What do you say to that?"

"Papa fun!" Lena giggled. She lunged forward and hugged her father's face, causing him to grimace as he walked over to the nursery door. The Marquis allowed his daughter to choose her dress—purple with white lace—and had only just gotten her shoes on her when she zoomed over to her toys and began to play. He chuckled and left her in order to dress himself, which he would have done had there not been a great deal of people fussing about in his room, arranging vases of flowers everywhere.

"Oh, my apologies Johan—you didn't answer so I thought you already left for the morning," the head gardener said. He saw the confused expression on his lord's face and chuckled. "I take it these are a surprise?"

"They are," the Marquis agreed. "I did not order them, and my wife has been gone nearly the week." Touching the blooms in the nearest vase, which were baby's breath and white carnations, he furrowed his brow in thought.

"The Marchioness ordered them before she left," the head gardener replied. "I thought you were aware." It was then that Lena came in to investigate all the commotion.

"Fwower!" she exclaimed happily. She clapped as she made her way up to the nearest arrangement to the door, but the gardener intercepted her and lifted the child into his arms.

"That's right, Lady Lena, those are flowers," he chuckled. "Do you like flowers?" He nodded at the Marquis, who quickly began to rummage through his wardrobe and don his finery for the day.

"Yes!" the little girl announced. "Fwower pwetty."

"They _are_ very pretty indeed. You have good taste, my child." The head gardener kept Lena busy until the Marquis was dressed, which was when he passed her off. "So then the Lady Clara did not have anything that needed discussion? This isn't any code you can think of?"

"Not that I am aware of," the Marquis answered. "If she ever has to tell me something, she usually says it forthright and skips playing games."

"Maybe it's something new, maybe it isn't," the gardener shrugged. He and his lord exchanged glances, knowing that neither of them had the full story at hand. The gardener then excused himself and left along with the rest of his staff. It took until he was halfway between the castle and the glasshouses before he finally pieced everything together.

' _Congratulations, Johan._ '

* * *

"Spit it out," the Marquis frowned. He was sitting in the governance chair, a young man from a village in the hills in front of him. The village man was staring at him curiously, or, to be more specific, he was staring at the toddler bouncing happily on her stone-faced father's knee.

"Uh, Your Lordship, I'm not exactly well-versed in court protocol, but should the young lady be with her governess?" he postulated. His lord shook his head.

"My child knows no governess," he replied. "She will rule the march one day, and in the meantime it's my job to make sure her duties are second-nature. Whatever you have to say to me, you can say to my daughter."

Lena looked between her father and the village man and furrowed her eyebrows, babbling importantly. The Marquis beamed at her, full of pride, and tickled her under her chin. "That's right, starlet: the village man is being a pudding brain and not saying what he needs to, prolonging everyone's time here. He won't be the last subject to be afraid of you, stars in the sky forbid."

"I am _not_ afraid of a baby," the villager frowned, unnerved by the very notion of his lord being affectionate. The Marquis did not move his head, yet turned his gaze onto the visitor with a smug grin.

"Prove it."

A long period of silence gripped the governance hall, the only noise being Lena's curious coos. The village man was just about to work up the courage to speak again when a crier scurried into the hall.

"The Lady Marchioness has returned," he announced. The Marquis clutched his daughter in his arms and stood, making his way down the dais and to the floor.

"We'll continue this another time," he said nonchalantly.

"…but what about…?"

"Then you should have spoken sooner," the Marquis stated.

"I was promised an audience!"

"And you will get one in time." The Marquis spun around on his heel, glowering at the man. "You try having your wife away from home for a week, traveling without word of return, and see how anxious you are to meet her."

"My wife doesn't have time for tea parties," the villager grumbled.

"Then I'll ask mine if tea in the hinterlands is any good, or if she was too busy drawing up new pasture boundaries for when we start rebuilding the roads to sit down for a decent cup," the Marquis snarked. Lena added on a few syllables as he turned around and walked away, peeking over her father's shoulder to wave her hand decisively at the village man. They then left, determined to locate the returned Marchioness.

A few minutes of frantic running later and she was found sitting down in the bedchamber. The Marchioness seemed to have just sat, with a servant placing a tea tray on the table next to her and the hem of her dress splattered in mud. The Marquis put Lena down on the floor and let her run to her mother, jumping up into her lap and attacking her with kisses.

"Oh, I missed you too little one," the Marchioness laughed. She watched as her husband slowly crossed the room, bending down on a knee to kiss her hand. "And I missed you as well. I see you got my flowers."

The Marquis smiled against her hand. "Things are not the same without the moon in my sky at night." He then blinked, letting go of her hand and taking careful note of her dress. "You haven't worn that in a long time."

"Since when?" she asked with a chuckle. It took until Lena leaned towards him and tugged on his whiskers for him to remember.

"When you were carrying Lena," he gasped. "You don't mean you're…?"

She nodded in reply, biting her lips together to keep from crying. The Marquis lunged forward and happily wrapped his arms around his wife in a hug, kissing her gently, with Lena trapped giggling in the middle.

"How far along?" he asked. "I… I didn't realize…"

"Not terribly far—before the autumn ends for certain—we've been apart my last few moon-cycles, so you wouldn't have had the chance to guess," the Marchioness said. "The physician is coming though for an exam, so if you could please take _our eldest_ to the nursery and keep her there I would be most appreciative."

"Are you feeling well?" the Marquis asked. She nodded.

"I am just showing a little sooner than before, and I want to be sure that it is normal," she said. "One of my bodyguards said she showed earlier with her second than her first and I shouldn't worry, but I know how you are about keeping up on these things."

"Yes, of course," he nodded, plucking Lena from her mother's lap. After leaving a kiss on his wife's crown, the Marquis brought their heir over to the next room, where he shut the door and sat in a chair while he watched her play.

Close to an hour passed as the Marquis secluded himself in the nursery. He heard the physician both arrive and leave as he waited patiently for the go-ahead to return. Finally the door to the bedchamber opened and the Marchioness stood in the entryway, leaning on the frame. He pulled their child away from her dolls and into his arms as he went to meet her.

"Are you well? Is the child well?" the Marquis asked. The Marchioness nodded.

"I am well, and so are the children," she said. Her husband furrowed his brow in thought.

"…but the physician didn't see Lena, only you."

"Only me and our _twins_ ," the Marchioness said softly, her hand finding her stomach. She watched as the Marquis's eyes went wide and his lips parted in shock.

"T-Twins…?" he gasped.

"Your grandfather was a twin; don't be so surprised," she smirked. Her face fell as her husband's shock did not seem to wear off, his own a frozen mask. "Johan? Are you alright?"

"Papa? Kay?" Lena asked, shoving her hands in her father's cheek. The Marquis shook his disbelief long enough to kiss his daughter on the forehead in reply.

"This… this can't be…" he murmured. "You cannot be with _twins_. There's no way…"

"There had to of been some way, or else I would not have shown so quickly," the Marchioness sighed. "Johan, everything will be fine."

"No, my dear, it won't be fine. This is _horrible_ …"

She had to double-take. "How is me having more children _horrible_? All you do is dote on our Lena!"

"Yes, and I only have two arms, Clara," the Marquis explained in a panic. "I can barely contain Lena now, but three children? I can't hold three! I can learn how to hold two but three… I'll have to make sure I give them all equal time with their papa, so that none feel less loved." His eyes began to sting as tears finally began to well up in happiness. "Oh Clara, how could you do this to me?"

The Marchioness looked up at her distraught husband and laughed. She cradled his face in her hands and brought him down for a kiss. " _'To nurture, foster, and insure our issue'_ , or have you forgotten?"

"That was part of our vows—it is something I'll never forget."

"Then I'm sure you'll find a way," she said. Carefully, she eased their daughter out of his arms and onto the floor, allowing the child to dash back to her toys. The Marchioness pulled the Marquis to a pile of cushions in the corner of the nursery, where they reclined and observed their eldest in play. All three grew drowsy by midafternoon, and before long toddler was in mama's arms, who was in papa's arms. They were a cozy pile of family, one that was growing even as they napped.

Not long before they were woken for tea, the Marquis's eyes flit open and he smiled as he caressed his wife's face, smoothed his daughter's wild hair, and placed a hand over where the twins were growing.

' _Two stars_ ,' he thought privately. ' _My moon is creating two more stars for our sky, which is already so well-lit the midnight hours are nearly as day. Few men are as lucky as me._ '

He kissed the Marchioness on the temple and gently tightened the grip around her waist. "My moon and my stars," he murmured. The Marquis then began to recite words, old and ornate and unknown to his sleeping family, as he sat and watched them as they slept on.


	3. The Moonless Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter has Lena at five and her twin sisters at three.

"Now I need you to behave for Papa," the Marchioness said sternly, crouching so as to look her daughters in the eyes. They were in the nursery, where it had been early evening playtime only moments before. The three little girls nodded sadly in reply.

"Do you have to go, Mama?" Lena asked. Mama nodded, stroking her eldest's soft, fluffy curls.

"If I don't, then foreign soldiers could cross the border and hurt a lot of people," she explained. "If they were friendly and just wanted a chat and some tea, we could let the colonels and the brigadiers handle it, but they're not and that means I need to help."

"Take us with you, Mama!" the twins, Astra and Tara, whined. The Marchioness shook her head and brought them in close for a hug.

"One day, when you're out of the nursery and can read a battle strategy," she tutted. "Now don't cause your papa any reason for worry, alright?"

"Yes, Mama," the girls replied in chorus. After giving each girl a kiss on the brow, she stood upright again and went to join her husband by their bedchamber. They entered, with him softly closing the door behind them.

"Do you really have to go?" he asked, his eyebrows knit in worry. "The report said they were aggressively hostile, Clara, moreso than usual. Let me assist at the front—I've gone face-to-face with a Daleki soldier in close combat before."

"It is my turn, so I am going; the girls will still have their mama by the time the contingent returns to Gallifrey, don't you worry," the Marchioness promised. The Marquis held her hand in one of his own, bending down to kiss her wrist.

"They better, or I shan't know what to do."

"I thought this was what you wanted: your second heart riding out when and where she is needed."

"It is, yet, I still can't help but worry," he said. Leaning down a bit further, he pressed their lips together in a pleading kiss. "My nights shall be moonless until your safe return."

"As will mine," she replied. They then parted, with the Marchioness headed for the stables while the Marquis went back to the nursery to announce that it was time for the family to go down to their dinner.

* * *

"Papa…? Papa, wake up please," Tara whispered, still in her nightdress as she shook her father's shoulder. He woke with a jolt, sitting upright in bed and looking down at his three-year-old daughter with parted lips and wide eyes.

"Is everything alright?!" the Marquis asked, eyebrows arched in fear. The sky was bright, though a sparkling red, showing that they still had at least an hour before it was time to ready for the day. Tara held out a ribbon and brush, pouting.

"Braid my hair," she demanded. Her father exhaled; things were fine.

"It's too early to be braiding hair, my starlet," he chuckled. "Can't Lena or Astra help you?"

"Mama always does it for me if they're not awake," she explained. Crawling up on the bed, she sat down resolutely and held out the ribbon and brush again. "Please?"

"You can't wait for one of your sisters?"

"Nope."

Sighing, the Marquis took the things from his daughter's hand and watched as her eyes lit up. She excitedly shuffled so that her back was turned and he had access to her long, wavy mane of brown. He began to cautiously brush it, untangling the strands that had been knotted in sleep. Once everything was smooth again, he ran his fingers through the ends, pensive.

"What's the matter, Papa?" Tara asked.

"I… nothing," he lied. "Just hold still while Papa does his best, okay?"

"Okay," she giggled, wiggling happily in place. The Marquis thought for a moment, attempting to remember how exactly it was a braid was supposed to look, before halving her hair and beginning to twist the bunches together with his fingers.

"I haven't done this very often, so forgive me if it does not look like a braid from Mama," he said. It was true, as the last time he had attempted such a feat, he was a young man and courting. By the time he got to the bottom, the attempt was lax and frizzed and rather sad-looking. He tied it off with the ribbon anyways, patting his daughter on the head to signal he was done. "There. That should suffice until your sisters are awake and can fix Papa's mistakes."

"Oh, thank you, Papa!" Tara said, turning back around and kissing him on the cheek. She took the brush with her and disappeared back behind the nursery door, presumably to change into her clothes for the day and wake her sisters. The Marquis let himself fall backwards into the mattress, staring up at the canopy in dismay.

"I was not prepared for this," he murmured, closing his eyes. "I would not trade them for anything, but I still will never be prepared."

* * *

The young heir to the marquisate and her little sisters watched carefully around the corner as their father talked with one of his military officers. He seemed to be heavily distracted by the officer, which made the girls frown as spied on the Marquis.

"I don't know how Papa can be so calm with Mama off to fight the Daleki soldiers," Lena pouted.

"He doesn't even look worried," Astra added. She was dressed in green that day, her twin in pink. "Mama at least _looks_ worried when he's off fighting."

"Oh, I think he is very worried indeed," a voice chuckled. The girls all jumped, falling over in surprise. When they finally disentangled themselves from one another, they saw Lena's tutor crouched down beside them with a soft smile. He always seemed to smile around them, making the forced-studding by Cyberan captors all over his face and body seem less frightening.

"How do you know, Sir Daniel?" Lena asked. "Has Papa told you he is worried?"

"No, but I can see it on his face," her tutor answered. "I've worked with him for many years, and I have learned how he shows fear."

"Is he often afraid?" Tara wondered. The man nodded in reply.

"He is, but that is just his nature," he said. "All papas are like that—all mamas as well. I wouldn't worry too much though. Your mama will be back home, dalek." He chuckled at the girls' blank expressions. "The soldiers your mama is with right now say ' _dalek'_ to mean something like ' _in a moment'_ , or ' _in a short while'_ , because in the field, most Daleki troops are so easy to get rid of that it doesn't take much time at all."

"Then why are they so dangerous?" The tutor patted Astra's hair and shook his head.

"They're dangerous because there's always so many of them," he explained. "Poor soldiering skills or not, you should still watch an enemy in large numbers."

"Um… Sir Daniel?" Tara tapped her fingers together sheepishly. "How do we help Papa feel less afraid?"

"Well, what do your mama and papa do for you when you're afraid?" he asked.

"Give us hugs and read to us and let us stay in their bed and sometimes Mama takes us to the kitchens and we make ourselves a snack without the help of the cook-lady," Lena replied, counting off on her fingers. "Would the same things work with Papa?"

"I think so," the tutor nodded. "He's your papa and he loves you, and if his daughters want him to feel less afraid, I'm sure he will appreciate their efforts."

"Okay! Thanks, Sir Daniel," Tara grinned. She went to turn the corner and angrily stomped her foot. "No! He left! Now where is he?"

"He'll be back; he always is," the tutor said. He stood straight up, holding out his hand towards the sisters. "How about if we go play some ball in the gardens? Lena doesn't have any more lessons for the day, if I recall correctly, and the weather is beautiful for it." That was all the distraction necessary for the girls to gasp excitedly and follow him through the halls.

* * *

"Are you all safe and sound?" the Marquis asked his daughters as he looked around the nursery. He had just finished settling them down for the night, complete with snug blankets, toy dragons and lions and puppies, and kisses already distributed.

"Yes, Papa," they said in unison. The Marquis then turned on his heel and went for the door to his shared bedchamber.

"Good night, then," he said as he left the room. The Marquis sighed in relief as he leaned up against the shut door, glad that his children were in bed and off to sleep. He shrugged out of his clothes and into his nightdress, afterwards allowing himself to nearly fall into his mattress. Pulling the blankets over him, he relaxed into the the pillow at his head—it still carried the Marchioness's scent despite her being gone. The smell comforted him as he closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep.

A few minutes passed and the Marquis heard the faint noise of the door to the nursery opening. Just as he began to roll over to see which daughter it was, all three jumped up onto the bed and tackled him in a giant hug.

"Wait a moment! What is going on here?!" he gasped. The girls scuttled off their father and into the empty expanse of bed, clutching their toy animals in trepidation.

"We got hugs and kisses goodnight, and we wanted to make sure you got them too," Lena explained. "Mama gives them to you, and since Mama's not here and you're worried about her…"

The Marquis relaxed—again, nothing was wrong. "Now what makes you think I'm worried about your mama?"

"We didn't think you were, but Sir Daniel said you are, and that we can help by making you feel better and we know we feel better with hugs, so…" Astra said, her mouth going nearly as fast as she could think. She sucked in a deep breath, steeling herself. "…Tara and Lena and I were hoping that maybe, if we gave you hugs goodnight, that you would feel better and not be upset with worry over Mama, and maybe we could stay in here like we do when you're the one riding to meet with the soldiers."

"You girls stay with your mama when I am not here?" he asked. The girls nodded.

"Mama says the bed is too lonely with just one person," Lena replied. "Is that right?"

The Marquis considered it for a moment before holding his arms out wide. "Your mama is never wrong." He smiled softly as his daughters dove under the bedding and snuggled in for the night. With Tara on his chest and Lena and Astra each in an arm, the Marquis slept upright in bed so as to not risk rolling over and disturbing them. He leaned up against the headboard, a crick quickly developing in his neck as he allowed himself to succumb to sleep, truly comforted by his daughters' presence.

* * *

When the Marchioness returned home early the following morning, she was more confused at her lack of a welcome party than anything.

"Where is my lord husband?" she asked as she dismounted her horse. "Usually he is here to greet me."

"I do not know, milady," the stable hand replied. "It is early yet, but I've heard that neither he nor your daughters have been seen today, so maybe they have taken ill?"

"That is a possibility—children and the grey-haired do fall ill easily after all," she nodded. She thanked the stable hand and decided to head up to her quarters for a quick bath and a change of clothes. Finding toy animals in her unmade bed and the door to the nursery open, she saw the Marquis sitting cross-legged on the floor, with Tara in his lap as Lena and Astra lorded over him.

" _No_ , Papa, you're doing it wrong," Lena frowned. She took the strands of her sister's hair from his hands and slowly wound them together. "Like this, see?"

"Yes, I see," he echoed. None of them noticed the Marchioness until she cleared her throat, alerting them to her presence.

"I see my stars and moon got on while I was gone," she laughed. The girls ran to their mother, nearly bowling her over in their excitement.

"Mama, we're teaching Papa how to braid hair!" Astra squeaked.

"I can see," the Marchioness laughed. She looked up and saw her husband rise to his feet. He crossed the nursery and bent down to kiss her cheek. "Are the lessons going well?"

"I have excellent tutors," he chuckled. "I didn't know our starlets kept you company while I am away."

"The bed is too big and lonely for one—I found that out after you and I started sharing," she smirked. She then inspected the beginning of the braids on Tara's head, close to her scalp and delicately woven. "Not many marquises I know with deft enough fingers to help their daughters with hair."

"You sound surprised." The Marquis placed his hands on her waist and pressed their foreheads together. "Maybe you forgot what I am capable of while you were away."

"I might need a reminder then," she giggled. She pulled down his face and kissed him on the lips, only to be serenaded by a chorus of fake gagging coming from the girls. They kissed again and were immediately pulled apart, Lena tugging on the Marchioness's waist and the twins each taking one of the Marquis's arms. The parents exchanged glances—it was more amusing than anything else for, above all, their skies were moonless no longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danny, as the official private tutor for the kids, is the closest thing they have to a governess, thanks to Johan and Clara's more hands-on approach to parenting than would be normal for nobility. With an ex-POW/military strategist/general badass at the helm of their education and non-parental welfare, one can only assume these children are destined for greatness.


	4. The Special Curriculum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter takes place with Lena at six and Astra and Tara at four.

It had all started one evening as the Marquis sat up in the study, proofreading some mandates that needed to be thoroughly combed through before their approval. It was a moonless night, both in the lack of the celestial body and his wife's absence, making it so that he shared the table with his daughters. Astra and Tara were both drawing quietly on some paper scraps, while Lena was concentrating as she read a book.

"Papa," Lena frowned, "can you tell me what this word means?" The Marquis adjusted his spectacles and watched as his daughter walked around the table to his side.

"Why of course, what is it my starlet?" he asked. His face fell as he saw the word she had pointed out and looked at her critically. "Is this one of the books from Mama's case?"

"From the shelf I'm allowed to borrow from, honest," Lena insisted. "I just don't know this word, is all, and it keeps on popping up."

The Marquis swallowed hard; he could see the twins now looking at them from across the table. "That word is ' _betrothed'_ ," he explained. "When the prince says the serdar's daughter is his betrothed, it means that one day they are going to marry whether they like it or not."

"Do people often marry the ones they don't want to?" she asked, tilting her head. She did not know it, but her father's heart skipped several beats.

"Sometimes, if the marriage is what's best for a political alliance, or if there is a large enough dowry, or wedding present, that makes it so there are no more money issues," he said, his ears beginning to burn.

"The prince in the book says he has been betrothed since he was a baby. How come? Babies can't marry."

"They can't, but there are betrothals that happen when the ones that are to be married are only babies or children, because their parents are friends or they will end up uniting two great houses." The Marquis was beginning to sweat, and was hoping that his daughter did not notice. "They just wait to marry when they come of age—it is a thing that happens, nothing more."

"Do the soldiers and smallfolk get betrothed?" Lena wondered. "What about merchants and guildsmen?"

"Occasionally, though it's more common with people like us." This was going to have to come to a close very soon if he wanted to get any more work done with a peaceful mind.

"Do I have a betrothed?"

"No!" the Marquis replied, much too firmly to seem calm. Lena jumped, caught off-guard by her father's sudden outburst. He quickly composed himself and sighed, pulling his daughter close enough to kiss her brow. "I'm sorry. It is just that I want you to choose who you marry yourself, and decide if you want a husband out of love or out of duty."

"So then Astra and Tara don't have betrotheds either?" the girl asked.

"That's right," he nodded. "They have dowries, for if they want them, but not a betrothed. You don't have one, because you are Papa and Mama's heir and because of that your husband will be the one who needs a dowry. He won't be Marquis, but he will be the Companion, and I would still rather you choose who sits at your side for yourself instead of having the man chosen for you."

"Huh, that's interesting. Thanks Papa," Lena said. She kissed her father on the cheek and returned to her chair, where she settled back down to read some more.

The Marquis, however, sat there with a twitch on his face and a knot in his gut—his daughters now knew what a betrothal was, and that the twins had dowries in lieu of a title. With Lena's ravenous appetite for the written word came an early onset of worry for his daughters' future courtships. He looked at his girls, tiny and young and surely so far away from things such as suitors, both the wanted and the unsavory, that he had to keep repeating to himself that he was overreacting.

Yes, he was overreacting, he silently repeated later as he laid in bed, unable to stay still. He tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable, but to no avail. If Lena had not been reading that book, she never would have asked, and if she had not asked, there was a chance that they could have been kept away from the concept for a while longer yet.

Suddenly, he smiled privately: he had the solution. It was brilliant and clever, if he did say so himself, and all it would take is a short chat with their tutor.

* * *

The next morning, the Marquis found himself again covered in daughters as he woke for the day. He dressed, made sure his girls got up and shuffled into the nursery to change into their day clothes before ushering them down to breakfast. As the meal was ending, the children's tutor, Sir Daniel, arrived and was nearly ready to whisk them away when the Marquis stood up first and cleared his throat.

"I'd like a word with you before you begin with lessons, if you don't mind," he said. The tutor blinked at him, curious.

"Of course, Your Lordship," he said. They stood off to the side of the room while the girls finished their meal. Feeling very uneasy about the look on the Marquis's face, the tutor steeled himself for the worst. "What is the problem?"

"Lena was reading a novel last night and she had me explain to her all about betrothals and dowries, with the twins right there," the Marquis grumbled, his voice hushed. "This is very bad—I was hoping to keep those ideas as far away from them as possible for as long as I could, but no… it's now ruined."

"With all due respect, sir, they are little girls, and that sort of stuff is in many faerie stories. I'm surprised that it took this long, if you have a problem with that." The tutor looked at his employer and raised an eyebrow. "What does this have to do with me? You don't think I encouraged this, do you?"

"No, I'm not accusing you; the book came off one of Clara's shelves. If there is one thing about Clara I dislike, let alone hate, it's her love of those lurid novels," the Marquis growled. "That's why I need you to add a subject to their curriculum."

" _'The Evils of Modern Literature'_ …?" the tutor asked in trepidation. The Marquis scoffed.

"No. I'm not going to stop them from reading because that would only make the situation worse as they grow older. I want you to teach them all how to fight."

"…like, military tactics?"

"Hand-to-hand combat, Daniel," the Marquis clarified. "At this rate I'm going to have all daughters, and while all daughters is better than no daughters, it will help put my mind at rest that if they happen to wander off with a suitor when they're older for some clandestine fling, they will be able to stop unwanted advances even if they end up with my wife's height and a man taller than me."

"That's very unorthodox, Johan," the tutor chuckled. He could now relax, with the real reason for concern finally out in the open. "Even in soldering families, the children do not start being formally trained in combat until they enter the Academy at age eleven. The girls are six and four."

"I understand, but even at eleven children start to think they're adults. Now what good is having an old soldier as my daughters' tutor if he cannot teach them how to defend themselves?" The Marquis grinned, his whiskers parted by a thin row of teeth. "Start whenever you can spare the time, but the sooner the better. I'd rather have Clara unaware until she cannot protest."

"Then how about we say that I planned on teaching them all along beginning at age eleven, but with all the extra work that has to be built into their schooling, it is better for them to begin early?" the tutor offered. "I can teach them the works: hand-to-hand, marksmanship, the shield and sword, just as long as they respect the tools I'm giving them." He sighed, scratching the back of his neck as he continued his thoughts. "As far as Clara is concerned, you have to admit that they have much more on their plate than a soldier's daughters would, and if that can't convince her, then nothing will."

"Thank you, Daniel. I knew I could count on you," the Marquis nodded. He pat the other man on the shoulder before letting him take the girls off to the schoolroom. It was a comfort, knowing that his daughters' tutor would bend the rules to help reaffirm their safety.

* * *

A week later, the Marquis was interrupted while he was brainstorming a way to deal with the mercenaries from Sontaria the Cyberans were rumored to be seeking out—the Marchioness had returned. He met her down by the stables, watching as she rode in atop her horse.

"How did I know you'd be my welcome party?" she laughed as she slid from the saddle and into his arms. He put her down and kissed her hand, bending at the waist to press their foreheads together.

"You grew," he said, reaching for her hips. She chuckled softly—the child in her womb was certainly more prominent now than when she had left, that was true.

"Where are the girls? I want to see them."

"With Daniel," the Marquis replied. They began to walk arm-in-arm, away from the stables and towards the gardens. Eventually they found heir and spares with their tutor on the grounds, with the girls waving around wooden swords in an exaggerated manner as instructions were barked out.

The Marchioness's eyes grew wide before they narrowed. "Daniel," she said, clearing her throat and raising her voice. Student and teacher alike snapped their gaze in her direction.

"Mama!" the girls cheered, dropping their weapons and running towards her. She bent down slightly and hugged them.

"Why hello there, little ones," the Marchioness smiled. "Now what's this you're doing? I don't remember you having the sword as one of your sports before I left."

"Sir Daniel says that we're all old enough to hold a sword as long as we don't treat it like a toy," Lena explained. "He said it will be useful!"

"Yeah! It's really interesting, and he says we're good at it!" Tara giggled. "Did you ever learn swordsmanship, Mama? What about shooting?"

"No, I did not," Clara frowned sternly. She paused and tread carefully as she continued. "Though, things are much different in Gallifrey than they are in Blackpoole. Grandpapa never had to worry about me and enemy soldiers until I came here. I simply wish Sir Daniel had told me beforehand…" She shot the tutor a disappointed look, to which he recoiled slightly. He was about to stammer out a response when he was cut off.

"I cleared it—not to worry," the Marquis chimed in. His wife looked at him, perplexed.

"You did…?"

"Yes, I did. _Not to worry_. Daniel, girls, you may continue." With that, he began to walk away, leaving his wife to rush to catch up to him.

"Johan, why are you letting our _daughters_ learn how to wield a sword… and what was that about _shooting_?!" she hissed as she took his arm. The Marquis shrugged.

"It was part of my education when I was a lad, as with all the heirs of the marquisate" he explained. "Soldiers listen better to commanders whose skills they can respect, and some only listen to shows of strength. The troops love and respect you now, but you are not of Gallifrey, let alone Kasterborous, and due to that they give allowances with their favor."

"That doesn't mean I'm forced to like the idea of our daughters learning how to kill…"

"Defend, my darling—we teach how to defend." The Marquis stopped walking and faced the Marchioness, cradling her cheek with one of his hands. "It is the battlefield that teaches how to kill, and I hope it never comes down to that. We all allow things we dislike to continue, such as your refusal of a carriage while with child…"

"I ride sidesaddle and at no higher than a canter, I'll have you know," she retorted. They both chuckled and leaned in to one another for a light kiss, blissful as they parted. "Next trip, alright? I'll use a carriage next time I ride out."

"Thank you, Doctor." He kissed her hand and bowed with a flourish, bending so far he had to grin at her from underneath his brows. She smiled back and they returned to the castle eager to catch up with one another.

* * *

A couple weeks passed and the Marquis and Marchioness had the distinct displeasure of being on the hosting end of a social call. The Count of Painswick was generally a tolerable man when encountered in the neutral playing field that was the capital, but dare he travel more than a few leagues from the city walls and little but complaining came from his mouth.

"I don't know how you tolerate this weather up here," he grumbled, looking out the window. It was grey and dreary outside, drizzling rain, which bothered the visitor from the sunny southern valleys. "All day and all night—doesn't this ever dampen your mood?"

"Not always, but you'd be surprised what sort of weather we find normal," the Marquis said. He stood by the count looking out the window, gazing down at the gardens, before looking back to his wife sitting next to the fire. "How about it Clara? You've been here twelve years now; when did you get used to Kasterborsian weather?"

"I'm still not used to it," she dully quipped, turning a page in her book. "Storms in the dead of winter are the worst. I'd rather birth a child over a week than get caught by snow-fever again."

"Surely you don't mean that," the count said. The Marchioness moved her eyes from the page, staring at the two men across the room as she remembered her first winter and what nearly became a mistake of a paramour.

"Try me." She turned back to her book, only for her daughters to come barging into the room excitedly moments later. All three were sopping wet and tracking mud over the rug. "Girls! Where have you been?!"

"Outside!" Tara grinned. "Sir Daniel was teaching us how to grapple and after he left we went outside and tried it ourselves."

"Well, I'm going to have to tell Sir Daniel that all of these lessons are called off until we can fit you into some breeches and shirts for fighting," the Marchioness scolded. She put down her book and began fussing with Astra's dress. "Oh, I hope the washing ladies can do something about these dresses."

"Your daughters? _Grappling_?" the count asked, rather incredulous. "If my daughter did anything of the sort her governess would have a fit."

"But we don't have a governess," Lena replied. "We just have Sir Daniel, and he says we need to know how to fight because not everyone is a nice person. I'm going to be in charge of soldiers one day too, so that makes it double for me."

"What a sharp little girl you are," the count chuckled. He crouched down to her height and pat the top of her hair. "But what if you have a baby brother next? Then what?"

"Uh… then I have a baby brother…?" The little girl looked over at her mother, confused. "What happens if we get a brother and not a sister?"

"Then you have a brother, nothing more," she replied, wiping mud off Astra's face with a kerchief. The Marchioness shot the count a glare commanding him to back down. "One day Lena will be Marchioness, no matter who her siblings are."

"With all due respect, but even for children your daughters look delicate. Is it safe for them to learn how to throw people around?"

"I don't know; Lena, show him what you learned today," the Marquis said. Without much more prompting, the girl caught the count as he was beginning to stand, rolling him down over her shoulder and flat onto his back. Barely able to contain his pride, the Marquis helped the count up from the floor. "Now I didn't mean demonstrate on _him_ , starlet. Throwing around Tara would have sufficed."

"I'm sorry," she squeaked quietly.

"Nothing to be sorry about if it was a misunderstanding," the Marchioness said. She stood up and began to herd her daughters out of the lounge, leaving the men alone. The Marquis went over to the table by the window, where a decanter of wine had been left earlier. He poured two drinks, holding one out towards his guest, a smirk growing on his face.

"Slender muscles run in the family," he said simply. The count reluctantly took the glass and downed the liquid in one go, knowing that this time it was wise to keep his mouth shut.


	5. The False Heir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place not too long after the previous. Lena's at six, Astra and Tara at four, the Marquis is at fifty-six, and the Marchioness at thirty-seven.

The day the Marchioness Clara gave birth to her fourth child was the day that marked the marquisate's temporary descent into madness and confusion.

Well, within the general order of things the day was fairly ordinary. The sky was blue and the sun shone brilliantly and the songbirds still sang upon the sill. With daughters at their lessons, the Marquis sat in the nursery, rocking the cot with his foot as he waited to be allowed in his bedchamber. His wife had been quiet for some time, and the baby's first cries were long-wailed, and he was beginning to become impatient.

"Milord?" the midwife said as she opened the door. "We are all done in here."

"Very well, thank you," he replied, standing up and making his way towards the other room. He entered and found no one else aside from the Marchioness and their newborn. The maids had done their cleaning and the midwife took her leave immediately afterwards, allowing the parents privacy.

"They lie," the Marchioness laughed weakly as her husband sat on the edge of the mattress and kissed her cheek. "It does not become easier with each passing child—either that or I'm just the lucky one."

"I'm the lucky one, to have a wife that puts up with my children so," the Marquis chuckled. He slid one arm around her waist and used his free hand to trace the brow of the sleeping baby in her arms. "Now what are we going to call you, starlet? A name just as pretty as your sisters', no doubt."

"I don't know if he will thank you for giving him a pretty name," the Marchioness said. She rested her head against the Marquis's shoulder and sighed. "This is our _son_."

"Our _son_? Are you sure?" he asked, blinking curiously. "You can make those?"

"If I'm capable of having daughters, then I'm capable of having sons, yes," she groaned. "Our girls have a little brother to teach how to play ball and nursery games and how to read."

"I don't know, Clara," the Marquis frowned. He held her hand in his and kissed it. "Aren't sons supposed to be different? I have daughters down pat, but I don't know the first thing about sons."

"Our _children_ have attentive parents that care about them, that is all," the Marchioness said. "This little boy has changed nothing about how we raise children, or the paths of any of his elder siblings. So what do you say, Papa? Is this the next Johan in the line?"

"Stars, no," he scoffed. "Too many Johans already. If the kids want to name _their_ sons Johan, that's their problem, but we can take a cue from Grandmamma Donata and do something different."

"You want to name our son ' _Troy Kalyoan_ '?"

"Doubly no—I'm fairly sure my lord father was as odd as he was because he had an odd name. I was thinking, if his sisters are named for the stars, then he should be as well."

"…but the boy in the legend of the moon and stars didn't have a name," she said. Her husband shook his head.

"No, but he is our little _star-ling_. What do you think, lad? Do you like Sterling?"

The infant opened his eyes and looked up at his father. He made a small noise, at which the Marquis smiled.

"Then Sterling it is, young man. Your middle name is not going to be Johan though and don't argue that."

"He can't understand you yet," the Marchioness chuckled.

"Didn't you know? All fathers can speak baby to some degree." His wife rolled her eyes and bounced the baby in her arms.

"I'll make sure to remember that during the red of night and he won't stop being fussy," she quipped. They kissed and the door to the room flew open, their daughters bursting into the room.

"We came as soon as we heard!" Astra shrieked. "Is it true we have a brother?!"

"Yes it is, starlet," the Marquis said. He watched as his daughters all climbed into the bed to get a closer look at the boy, who stared at them in wonder. "His name is Sterling."

"Hello Sterling," Lena said. She scrunched her nose as she watched him wriggle in place. "He's really tiny. I don't remember Astra and Tara being this tiny."

"That's because you were small still yourself," the Marchioness explained. "One day it's likely Sterling will grow bigger than you, even though he's younger."

"I doubt that," Tara frowned. She jabbed a finger in her brother's midsection, causing him to cry. "Wow, he whines a lot."

"Anyone whines when their sister is mean to them," the Marquis said. "You have to be careful with babies, or else they don't grow properly. We made sure that Lena was careful with you, and now you have to be careful with Sterling."

"Okay then, Sterling: grow up so I can poke you and throw you around and you don't cry," Tara ordered.

"That's not how babies _work_ , Tara," Lena groaned.

"How would you know? You can't even _remember_ when I was a baby!" The two girls began to bicker back and forth over who was right, while Astra ignored them and gently kissed their brother on the brow.

"Welcome, Sterling," she said. "We all love you very much."

"That's a good girl," the Marchioness smiled. She stroked her daughter's hair and watched as her husband pulled their other two daughters apart. Their family was growing steadily and healthily, and it was everything that she could want for them, unaware of the unpleasantness that was soon to come.

* * *

By the week's end, the Marchioness was feeling refreshed enough to begin joining the Marquis and their three older children down in the dining room for meals. With Sterling nestled sleepily along her arm, she worked one-handed as she ate her breakfast.

"What did you do when Astra and Tara were babies, Mama?" Lena asked curiously. Mama shrugged as she bit into some toast.

"Oh, that's what I had your Papa for," she explained. "You either sat in a lap or on a stack of books and your Papa and I switched off which twin we held."

"Were Tara and I hard?" Astra asked.

"We had three babies at once—that's difficult on anyone who refuses a governess," the Marquis added. A servant came in and handed him some letters which he thankfully took. "We don't want you kids being raised by someone we don't know and who is only caring as long as they have a job. Usually it is only the smallfolk that don't have governesses, and those children attend schools with kids from other families, so really people consider your situation unique." He opened the first of the letters and began to skim the contents—a social correspondence—though his attention became increasingly rapt as he went along.

"Knock, knock," the tutor said as he entered the dining room. He strolled in and came straight up to the table, eyes locked on his students. "Are you ladies ready for today's lessons?" Met with a chorus of groans and almosts, he chuckled and turned his attention to the newborn. "And hello there. You're a little young for the schoolroom, aren't you?"

"Just a bit," the Marchioness laughed. She looked up at her old love and raised her eyebrows cheekily. "How are things with you and that lady friend of yours? Well, I hope?"

"Yeah… I think so," he grinned. "She's no great lady, but I think she's willing to become one in-name if I ask." He glanced over at the Marquis, whose face was drawn long and still as he read another letter with a lordly mask, and frowned.

"Are you okay, Johan?"

"What? Oh, yes, I'm fine," the Marquis said, snapping out of his trance. "Girls, time for lessons. Now. Go with Sir Daniel."

"You heard the man, team! Let's go!" the tutor announced, forcing pep into his voice. The girls jammed as much of their remaining breakfast in their mouths as possible and followed their tutor out the room. With daughters gone, the Marchioness turned her attention to her husband, who was now angrily going through the letters.

"Johan? What's wrong?" she asked.

"They're all offers," he replied stiffly. The Marquis slammed the letter in his hand on the table and cursed in the ceremonial tongue. "They're a bunch of rabid _dogs_ circling her like a wounded animal!"

The Marchioness furrowed her brow in thought, fully aware his ire was not directed at her. "What are you talking about?"

"We announce we have a son and I get congratulated in court with much more enthusiasm than with the girls. Not even a week passes and look at this! Althos, Shoreditch, Chatham, Bristol, _Chiswick_ … all offers of betrothals for Lena! Chiswick! My grandmamma was from Chiswick! Even if I _were_ marrying her off, I can't marry her to a cousin like that!" He scoffed angrily and tried to drink some tea to calm his nerves; it didn't work. "I thought the past six years of me saying ' _my daughter will inherit the marquisate_ ' would have been enough, but apparently not!"

"It's what they would be doing in your shoes," the Marchioness sighed. "According to them, you now have a real heir and Lena can go back to being a proper little lady."

"She is a proper little lady already—just one who is going to run circles of greatness around all their unworthy sons as they pick their noses trying to find the pudding stuck in there," the Marquis growled. "This disgusts me; the only one who has any right to write to me asking for one of our children is _your papa_ , if he can't find a decent mind out of your extended family to succeed him."

"It will only be one that his wife approves of as well, so that leaves out basically anyone from his side of the family," she mentioned. Sterling woke up and began to fuss, prompting her to feed him. "Papa knew what he was getting into by marrying me off to an heirless widow instead of cloistering me away until he found a suitable man without a title to wed me."

"Oh, I can't imagine you living like that," he replied, the comment dragging him from his anger. "Surrounded by great pious ladies that just get drunk from boredom when no one's looking? How exciting."

"A fate I'm thankful I never met every day," she said kindly. The Marchioness reached across the table and took hold of her husband's hand, stroking the knuckles with her thumb. "I'll write the responses, if you like. It will be less likely you go off the handle that way."

"No… the letters are addressed to me and if I don't respond personally then it will be considered a slight," the Marquis grumbled. "I might as well start writing them in bulk. If we got five today, think of how many we're going to get in the long-run."

"Think about it too much and you're like to pop a vein," the Marchioness said plainly. She carefully maneuvered her son and tapped his back to burp him. He made a little croaking sound and she returned to the feeding. "Act otherwise like nothing's changed…"

"…but it _hasn't_ changed, Clara…"

"Precisely. Keep on as normal and you'll get the message across," she said as if it were the easiest and plainest answer in the world. "Have Lena attend court, continue her lessons, make it very clear that just because you sit there with an infant son that doesn't mean that your eldest daughter has lost her place in line."

"You do always know what to do," the Marquis smiled. He picked up his wife's hand and kissed the back of it; he was certainly lucky to have such a sure-headed bride.

* * *

"May I ask you something, Psi? Friend to friend?"

His host, the young Earl of Braxos, laughed and moved a piece across the chessboard. It was after dinner and they were alone in the lounge, sharing a game while their wives talked the room over in the library. "If we're using given names, then of course, Johan. I didn't know that my inheriting my father's earldom meant I inherited your friendship along with it."

"Not that many I can call a friend these days, I'm afraid, and I think you have a better chance of understanding me than most." The Marquis took another sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair, studying the game pieces before him. "Clara and I have been getting a lot of letters about Lena."

"Jumping on the news of Sterling's birth without thinking things through, huh?" The Earl watched his opponent consider his options and his face dropped in sympathy. "It's only been two months—things can't be _that_ bad."

The Marquis moved up a piece and frowned. "They are, I hate to say. I've received dozens of inquiries about her status and if I plan to betroth the poor girl, but I just can't do it. Clara and I were very fortunate with our marriage, but that doesn't mean that I want _any_ of my children to be forced into a match that they don't approve of themselves before the wedding day. Arranged marriages and betrothals are so _tricky_."

"For a man who has been in both, you are certainly reluctant towards either notion for your children's futures," the Earl shrugged.

"Yes, well," he shrugged uncomfortably, "I've seen the alternatives. Your mother and father—may he feed the earth well—disliked one another so much that it wasn't clear you were legitimate until you grew up. Clara's father and stepmother, well, let's just say I'm fond of one and not of the other and we'll leave it at that." He picked up a piece removed from the game and studied it in the light. "I cannot wed my eldest daughter off before she even reaches womanhood… it's not right."

"None inquire about the twins?"

"They've been long-inquired about, I hate to say." The Marquis put the piece back down and shifted in his seat. "But most have just been thinking I was waiting for Clara to age into barrenness to make a decision on whether Lena will inherit the marquisate. I can't do that to her—pass her over for a baby for a reason as silly as gender. If she gets passed over for a sibling, it's because she wants to be passed over. Astra and Tara still sit between Sterling and the marquisate, so it's not like he's guaranteed it with Lena out of the way…"

"…and I hope, truly, that it never comes to that, because family is too precious a thing to have ' _out of the way_ '," the Earl said. He moved a chess piece and removed another from the game. "I remember visiting Gallifrey right after Lena was born and we barely had the chance to say four words to one another because you were poring over the law books."

"That's because it only hit me the day after she was born that Lena could be contested as an heir," the Marquis sighed. "Once I was certain the kingdom would recognize her as my legitimate successor, I had to also make sure there was no Kasterborsian provision that could allow the cadet branch to take over. My cousins are _wolves_ , Psi. They're bad news; a woman nearly inherited before, but that was because her uncles and cousin had no aspirations for the seat."

"Your great-grandfather's cousin, Lady Dorothea, if I remember my history lessons well enough," the Earl said. He watched the Marquis nod in affirmation and continued. "Didn't the marquisate go from her and her father being killed in a skirmish and through two of her uncles before the younger passed his title on to live in self-imposed exile within a matter of a few years?"

"Yes, but the ninth marquis blaming himself for the deaths of his brothers and niece in the Great Dalek War and not accepting the title of Doctor is nowhere near the eleventh marquis's twin stealing his betrothed from the altar. Brothers don't do that to brothers."

"…and that is why I'm glad your twins are not your firstborn; that's an ill omen for parents in our line of work." He paused and lifted his eyebrows, signaling to the Marquis that they were not alone. Lena, Astra, and Tara had just slipped into the room and silently padded over to the men.

"We're going to bed," Lena announced, holding back a yawn. Her sisters were so sleepy they could only nod in affirmation. "Thank you for being a nice host, Lord Simon." She curtsied, which sent her into a wobble.

"Call me Psi, please," the Earl chuckled, patting Lena on the head. "We're neighbors; Saibhra and I want to be friendly. I mean, it's not always your papa I'm going to be sending support troops."

"Is it okay, Papa?" Lena asked. The Marquis sat back up in his chair and bent to kiss his daughters on the forehead.

"Of course it is. I've known Psi since he was a baby and since then I've come to trust him," he explained. "If there is one thing you can do, it is trust a Braxos, even if neither you nor him know what's happening."

"Okay, Papa. Goodnight." With that, Lena took her sisters by the hand and they shuffled out of the lounge. The adults waited until the door shut to continue their conversation.

"Saibhra and I don't plan on betrothing our children—we can lie and say it's a neighborly agreement, if it'll stave the offers," the Earl said. The Marquis shook his head.

"You haven't had children yet, and what if you only have girls? No."

"Saibhra has nephews…"

"No. It would look incredibly suspicious, and it wouldn't be fair to the children. I find no issue with her or her family, but we both know how much of a stir it caused when you married an _actress_."

"Fringe benefit," the Earl grinned. "It was a mutually-agreeable match that made people squirm—how could I resist?"

"You don't even touch one another for appearance's sake." The Earl smirked at that, taking a sip of his drink. "Whatever setup you have baffles me… not that I can judge."

"Lord Accidentally Fell In Love With His Heiress-Wife? Stars no."

Eyebrows lowered and lips a thin line of a frown, the Marquis moved a piece on the board and knocked over the Earl's king. "Checkmate."


	6. The Battlefield Babe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is going to be the last strictly-linear chapter. After this we'll have some chapters that are sequential, but for the most part I'll be posting whatever scenes I happen to come up with, whether that's in the early years or later on. Speaking of, this chapter takes place two years after the previous one. Ages are Lena at eight, Astra/Tara at six, Sterling at two, and the Marquis and Marchioness are fifty-eight and thirty-nine.

Martha Jones-Pink, field surgeon, general physician, and celebrated member of the Marquis's army, was severely displeased as she came out of the medical tent. Not far away was Marchioness Clara being helped off her horse by a soldier, while the young Lady Lena handed over the reins to her pony. The sight would have been more bearable had the Marchioness not been so heavy with child, something the physician herself had been up until a few months prior.

"Milady, why are you here?" she frowned as she stomped up to the visitors. "You're large enough to where I could roll you across the field."

"Oh, I planned on this being my last ride for a while," the Marchioness laughed, attempting to make light of the situation. "Since it's been quiet, I decided to bring Lena for one quick tour of the camps while she has a holiday from lessons and before I'm laid up in bed and exhausted from feedings."

"…and have you been learning loads, Lady Lena?" the physician asked. The little girl nodded. "I hear you have a gift for strategy."

"I do!" Lena beamed. "That's why Mama said I can come! First she said I couldn't come until I'm out of the nursery and know strategy, but she said that the nursery part doesn't matter right now!"

"That's excellent! Hey, why don't you go to that tent over there and ask one of the cooks for a snack?" the physician suggested. "You must be hungry from the ride over."

"Okay, I will!" Lena scampered off giggling, simply happy to be there.

"You are reckless," the physician snapped at the Marchioness as soon as Lena was out of earshot. "If I could spend over half a year at home twiddling my thumbs in boredom then so can you."

"…and what? Have my husband riding out here more than what is actually necessary?" the other woman replied lowly. "No, Martha. As long as I can still mount a horse I am doing my duty and riding when I can. It's not at a gallop but if I could do it with Lena I will certainly do it with this child."

"You're an older mother now, Clara. I should hope I don't have to tell you about the risks of being an older mother."

"You sound like both Johan _and_ Daniel," the Marchioness grumbled. She started to walk away, though the physician immediately followed and they began to walk around the camp borders. "Why is it that _your_ husband has to take care of a baby and suddenly he feels it necessary to join in _my_ husband's lectures about taking it easy?"

"Because in this case, I think they know what they're talking about," the physician smirked. "How's my little Oriana? Doing well with just her dad around?"

"She's _thriving_ ," the Marchioness replied. She turned to face the physician, only for an explosion across the field and behind the far-off tree line to catch their attention. A volley of phaser blasts were hurled into the camp, one of which hit her shoulder. The force of the blast caused her to jerk back and fall to the ground, twitching in the wide-eyed aftershock.

"We're under attack!" the physician shouted. "I need muscle—the Marchioness has been hit!" Her last sentence was drowned out in a sea of panic, with soldiers scrambling to ready themselves for battle.

"Mama!" Lena cried as soon as she saw her mother lying on the ground. She ran over to kneel in the mud next to the Marchioness, trying to shake her back to responsiveness. "Mama, Mama, what's wrong?!"

"No, don't do that!" the physician snapped, taking Lena's hands away. "She was hit with a phaser gun and it jammed her nervous system and muscular responses. It takes a couple minutes, but she'll come back." She looked down towards the Marchioness's skirt and noticed red was beginning spread across the fabric. "Shit, _SHIT!_ I need _muscle, **now**_!" Quickly she checked underneath the skirt and cursed as one of the other soldiers came up to help them. "Get her to my tent, immediately—she's dilating rapidly."

"What's that mean?" Lena asked as the physician took her hand and began pulling her along. The soldier had picked the Marchioness up and was now carrying her to the medical tent.

"It means you're going to be a big sister again very soon, whether the fighting stops or not." They all reached the medical tent and the Marchioness was placed down on an empty bed. As soon as the soldier's hands were away the effects of the phaser blast wore off, allowing her to let out a blood-curdling scream and curl around her unborn child.

"Mama!" Lena shouted. She started to run to her, but the physician pulled her back by the arm.

"No, don't," she ordered. She pulled a phaser pistol from the holster underneath her coat and put it in the girl's hands. "I need you to stand guard. If it doesn't look like one of ours, shoot it in the head. You got that? I know you can use one of these, so I have faith in you." The Marchioness screamed again, this time her husband's name, and the physician quickly turned the girl away from them and towards the door-flap. "Don't turn around until I say so."

"…but, but, _my mama_ …" Lena sniffled.

"…who is counting on you to keep us safe while she tries to give you your baby sibling. Stay here and do not look, I don't care what you hear. Got that?"

Lena bit her lips together and nodded, trying not to cry. The physician's hands left her shoulders and the girl lifted the phaser gun. It shook in her hands as she watched people run around though the slit in the tent flap. Her mother shouted again, and again, and Lena nearly turned to look, but someone in blue steel armor and pointing a rifle popped into the tent. She squeezed the trigger and fired, the blast connecting with the enemy soldier's forehead. The blast tossed him back out of the tent, only his boots still visible until they were dragged away by an unseen force.

Very soon after that a baby cried and tears began to stream down Lena's cheeks. She kept on watching the door-flap for intruders until the physician came back, one hand resting on her shoulder and the other taking the pistol from her grip.

"Go meet your sister—I have this," she said gently in her ear. The little girl spun around and flung herself in her mother's direction crying hysterically. Lena threw her arms around the Marchioness's neck and squeezed tight.

"Oh my girl, my big strong girl," the Marchioness cooed, stroking her eldest daughter's hair in a one-armed hug. "I am so sorry. Are you okay?"

"Nuh-uh," Lena whimpered, shaking her head. She looked down at the baby suckling at their mother's breast and worried her brow. "She's so little… I know babies are little, but Sterling wasn't this little, was he Mama?"

"Sterling had a whole extra month to grow inside me," Mama explained. She exhaled wearily and kissed her eldest daughter's forehead. "You did a good job protecting us. Thank you."

"Can we go back home, Mama? Papa needs to name her."

The Marchioness looked at the little girl whose face was nestled in her shoulder and nodded. "I think that is a wonderful idea… though, you don't want to name her?"

"No, that's Papa's job," Lena sniffled. She kept on staring at the baby with wide, barely-blinking eyes. "Papa gives good names. He gave me my name."

"This is true," the Marchioness agreed. She hugged her eldest daughter close, leaving another kiss on her hair. It had been a mistake going to the front while carrying one child and escorting another, and she hoped that it was going to be a mistake they could put behind them.

* * *

It was a bright, quiet morning as the Marquis sat in his study. Sterling was on his lap, looking over the tabletop calmly at his father's work, while Astra and Tara sat at the far end of the table doing their sums practice. A hurried knock broke the serenity, sending a scowl across the man's face.

"You better be important," he called out as he continued to look over his papers. A courier burst in, winded and exhausted from travel.

"A letter from the Marchioness, Your Lordship," he explained as he approached the table. "It's urgent." He placed the folded paper in the Marquis's outstretched hand and stood there, making his lord glare at him from underneath his brows.

"Your job is complete," he said.

"No, milord. I have further instruction to watch you read Her Ladyship's words. Please."

Quirking an eyebrow, the Marquis broke the seal and began to read his wife's letter. The further on he went, the paler his face ran, until he had to put down the paper and wrap both arms around his son in a hug. His eyes were wide and his lips parted in silent shock.

"Papa? What's wrong?" Astra asked. "What did Mama say?"

"Your…" He had to gulp down air to steady himself. "Your little sister was born early."

"We have another sister?!" Tara gasped. "What's her name? When are they coming home? I thought she wasn't supposed to be born until next month!"

The twins watched their papa as he sat there, clutching their brother. "Papa okay?" the toddler asked, wiggling in an attempt to escape their father's grasp to no avail. The courier excused himself and left the family alone, a heavy air having fallen on the room. Astra slipped off her chair and crept over to the Marquis's side, touching his arm gently.

"Papa? What did Mama say?"

"They… almost died," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Your mama and your sisters… they could have died. There was an attack, by mercenaries… and that's why your little sister came early."

"What's a ' _mercenary_ '?"

"A hired soldier, only paid to do a specific task. They had been watching your mama and Lena… they wanted to…" The Marquis couldn't continue, and instead turned towards Astra and drew her in for a hug. The girl looked back at her twin in confused horror as their father began breathing deeply into her shoulder.

"Don't worry Papa," she said, turning her face forward again. "Mama and Lena and the baby are safe, right? They're coming home."

"They almost didn't, starlet," the Marquis choked. " _You_ almost became Papa's heir; soldiers attacked the tent where Mama and your sister were. Stars in the sky forbid, I don't want to do that again. Daniel shouldn't do that. _No_ …"

"Do what, Papa?"

"Bury a wife and a child before their time—my sky almost grew dimmer in one blow." He let go of Astra to fetch a kerchief from his pocket, with which he cleaned the tears from his face as he composed himself. "Did you know that about your papa? That I had married before your mama?"

Astra shook her head, but it was Tara that answered once she was over at their father's side. "You still have us, Papa. We're still your stars."

"…but you know how dark it is outside when there's no moon to light the way," he said. The Marquis bounced the toddler in his lap and tried to smile for him. "Your brother doesn't understand yet, and I'm not sure how much you do, but please understand this: I am a very selfish man. I want my moon and each one of my stars until the day I die, and I don't care who stands in the way of that."

"Why did you mention Sir Daniel? Is Lady Martha okay?" Astra asked.

"Yes, she is, but Lady Martha was the physician that helped your mama birth your baby sister. If your mama died, chances would have been Lady Martha died alongside her. Sir Daniel and I argue, but… having gone through the death of a wife myself, I can't recommend it." He paused to place a hand on each of his daughters' shoulders and looked them in the eyes. "It's going to take at least a couple days for Mama and Lena to come back with the new baby. Can you promise you'll be good girls and wait patiently with me?"

"…but you never wait patiently for anything, Papa," Tara noted.

"That's why I need your help," he said. The Marquis then hugged his girls and rang the bell for tea, starting what was to be a long, strenuous week of wait. Very little could snap him from his daze, not even words of comfort from his daughters' tutor, given with sincerity and a hardened sense of understanding as he held his own daughter in his arms. It was a reality he faced every day, he explained, and while it hurt it should also be a source of strength, power, and love. It was all the Marquis could do to nod in response as he held his son, shivering in worry as the convoy made its way back.

Finally, a messenger approached the Marquis to announce that his wife and daughters had returned. He abandoned his paperwork and rushed down to the stables, where he saw his wife being helped out from the back of a cart while his daughter stood nearby. Her feet had barely reached the ground when he called out, his voice cracking as it filled the stables. "Clara! Lena!" He scrambled into their view, running an impossibly-lopsided run until he reached the Marchioness, whom he bent down towards and deeply kissed. After kissing her a second time, and a third, where he ran his fingers through her hair to make sure she was real, he left a light kiss on his infant daughter's nose and allowed himself to sink to his knees so he could hug his heir.

The girl sniffed into her father's shoulder, clinging tightly when he tried to stand again. He picked her up, a feat he strained to accomplish, and carried her up to the nursery. It was there where he had made the other children wait. As soon as the door had opened they snapped to attention, rushing right past their father to barrel into their mother's skirts.

"Hold on now, hold on, let me sit down first," the Marchioness chuckled. She sat in a nearby rocking chair and showed the sleeping infant to her siblings. "See? Here we are. All safe and sound."

"Mama, Papa told us what your letter said," Tara frowned. "That was wrong of the Sontarians. Lena didn't do anything bad and the baby _couldn't_ have done anything bad because she hadn't been born. Why would they want to kill people who aren't even old enough to do anything?"

"Because it was their job, starlet, nothing more," Mama sighed. "Thank you for keeping your papa here at the castle instead of letting him run off to the front. I don't know what he would have done had he acted reckless and accidentally gotten hurt looking for us."

"Baby?" Sterling asked, looking at his little sister. He patted his mother's stomach, no longer the bulge it once was, and tilted his head curiously back at the newborn. "Baby name?"

"Our son's right," the Marchioness said. She raised her voice so as to be heard across the room. "What is his little sister's name, Papa? Have you decided on a name of our youngest child?"

The Marquis sat silently on Lena's bed, the girl curled up against him in his lap as he rocked her back and forth. Despite the fact nearly the entire nursery was between him and his wife, he knew that it was as if they were sitting beside one another, holding hands and sharing their strength. His kissed his eldest's hair and held her close, trying to ignore the fact she was wrapping his cape around her as a blanket while she quietly cried.

"Maglina." He paused, staring at a bit of rug not far from where he sat. "Star dust."

"What a pretty name," the Marchioness cooed, bouncing the child gently in her arms. "Your sister was right: your papa does give good names." The baby opened her eyes and looked up, staring at her mother with the same sea-green gaze that was found in her grandfather's portrait down the corridor. "I think you will be it, my darling Maglina. You will be the last of Mama and Papa's babies."

"No more…?" Astra asked. "How can you tell?"

"I just can," Mama replied. "As far as I can see, Maglina is my last baby." She saw how intently her middle children were looking at their sister and forced a smile. "Who wants to hold her first?" The twins' eyes lit up.

"I want to! I want to!" Tara gasped.

"…but Sterling hasn't held a baby before!" Astra argued. "We should let him hold her first!"

"Sterling held Ori when Sir Daniel first brought her over to the castle, remember?" Tara shot back. "He was sitting on Mama's lap and she helped him!"

"Stop fighting," the Marchioness said firmly. "It's Tara's turn first, then Sterling, then Astra. Now sit down on the floor, please." Her children did as they were told and sat in front of their mother cross-legged. She slid carefully off the chair and down to her knees, placing the baby gently in the younger twin's arms.

After making sure the hold was secure, she looked across the room to check on her husband and eldest. They were still wrapped up in his cloak and wobbling on the edge of the bed. The Marquis's face was blank, his mask of lordly indifference hiding the pain and horror that was attacking him from all around. Lena kept rubbing her face in her father's chest, smearing tears and snot, and was visibly shivering even from across the room. It broke the Marchioness's heart, but she kept her other children busy and began the process of passing Maglina over to her brother.

It was not until that night, when the sky was a dusty red and the children were asleep and the baby freshly fed and placed in her cot, did the Marquis finally break. They laid on their bed, with his sobs muffled by her shoulder and his grip around her steadfast as iron. He cried and cursed in the ceremonial tongue and curled himself around her body. Hating everything and feeling helpless, he swore over and over to protect her, cherish her, and destroy anything that ever wished her harm. The Marchioness simply stroked his hand and listened to his murmured tirade until he fell asleep from exhaustion, red in his face and crust in his eyes. She looked out the window at the blood-red sky, listening to his labored breathing as she too drifted off, giving many thanks to the luck they had to bring her and their children home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we're still gonna have plenty of fluff and cute things, but a drama chapter, you know? Being nobility isn't all flower-language and glaring at people you don't like, after all.
> 
> Also, I need to mention that it took me quite a long time to figure out who in the heck I was going to pair Daniel off with, whether it was a canon character or an OC. In the end, I realized that when it comes to compatibility, Danny and Martha make a pretty good match. He'd be obliging to her career and she'd be able to see past the shit the Cyberans have done to him. Both characters are pretty badass and compassionate and tolerate the Doctor's antics very little. Love Mickey, love Martha, but I don't get the feeling a relationship between the two of them would have gone all the way to marriage. I know the ship is technically canon, but I don't wholly buy it. Sorry.


	7. Astara the Great

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to rewind a little bit! The following chapter takes place with Lena at seven, the twins at five, and their baby brother Sterling at one.

"Keep working on your reading, ladies. I'll be right back," the tutor said. He left the schoolroom for the toilet down the hall, leaving his three young charges to slump in their chairs as soon as his footsteps could not be heard.

"This is so _boring_ ," Tara whined. "I don't want to read about march history, _or_ kingdom history. I just want to go outside and play."

"You have to," Lena said. "If you don't then you won't learn about what to do and what not to do when we're adults."

"Yeah, but I'm not going to be a marchioness like you." Tara then looked over at Astra. "Hey Astra, do you think you can take my exam for me? I can pretend to be sick and then you take my paper when I come back. It's not like we don't look the same or anything."

"No Tara, I won't," she said, shaking her head. "Sir Daniel will figure it out. Even though we look the same people still know who is who."

"…only because of your dresses," Lena added. The twins looked at her, confused. "What? You mean you know? Tara has warm colors for her dresses and Astra has cool colors and it's so the adults can tell you apart. I figured it out when I learned the color wheel, and I'm surprised you didn't then too."

"Wait, so, you mean if we just switch dresses, we'll fool everyone?" Tara asked.

"Well, you won't fool me, but I bet you could definitely fool Mama and Papa and Sir Daniel."

"Then let's try it!" Tara gasped. "After lunch, before we come back to the schoolroom, we'll switch dresses!"

"I don't know…" Astra said. "What if we get in trouble?"

"For switching dresses? That's a dumb reason to get in trouble."

"Then we shouldn't risk getting in trouble for a dumb reason," Astra hissed. Tara was just about to say something very rude in reply when the tutor came back and the girls all snapped to attention.

"I see you've been _busy_ while I was away," he chuckled. "Now I think it's about time we put away the history books and practice some arithmetic…"

* * *

"This doesn't feel right, Tara," Astra frowned. They had been released from lunch only minutes before and were due back in the classroom in a few more. Tara smoothed out her borrowed blue skirt and chuckled.

"Nah, it feels fine," she replied. "Besides, you look pretty in yellow."

"Tara… we're _identical twins_. Whatever you look pretty in, I look pretty in."

"Come on, let's get back to class before we're late and in trouble anyways!" Tara said. The two girls ran from the nursery and through the castle to the schoolroom, where the tutor was sitting next to Lena and watching as she outlined a battle strategy with her finger on a map.

"Start reviewing your history lesson from this morning—I'm going to quiz you when we're done," the tutor said, not looking away from the map in front of him and Lena. The twins sat down and opened their books, with Tara pretending to read and Astra attempting to find where they left off.

"Okay, so when Sir Daniel asks for me, you stand up and answer for me, and I'll do the same for you," Tara whispered. "Got that?"

Astra nodded and continued reading. A few minutes passed and after the tutor gave Lena another battle to plan, he turned his attention to her sisters. He blinked at them curiously, trying to figure out what was off, and then it hit him. "Okay, time to go over what you learned this morning. Which one of you can tell me which two sets of marquises were brothers? Astra?"

Tara stood up, barely able to contain her smirk. "It was…"

"No, sit down," the tutor said. Tara's face went red as she complied, watching her sisters out of the corner of her eye; Astra was frozen solid while Lena had turned to look at them in the wide-eyed shock she seemed to have learned from their father. "I asked for Astra. Now come on, tell me which marquises were brothers."

The girl stood and couldn't look her tutor in the eyes directly. "The first and third were brothers, as well as the seventh, eighth, and ninth," she replied quietly.

"Good. Now I don't know _why_ the two of you thought I wouldn't notice, but I did. I'm not an idiot."

"…but how…?" Tara sputtered.

"If I can tell the two of you apart while you're in your identical practice armor, then I can tell you apart when you're in your normal clothes," he replied sternly. The tutor pinched the bridge of his nose in his irritation, right underneath a metal plate that sat between his eyes. "Please don't try this again. I don't care if you share clothes, because frankly that's normal, but take up acting lessons before you try impersonating one another in front of me." He watched as the girls fell into their separate personalities: Astra trying to be as small as possible and Tara being wholly flabbergasted. "Would you like me to let you study a bit longer?"

"Yes please," the twins responded. They returned to their books, defeated for the time being.

* * *

Lessons had ended for the day and the girls went back up to the nursery to play a short while before dinner. When they arrived, they found the Marchioness there changing out Sterling's nappy and replacing his baby's dress with one not smeared in the cake he had with tea.

"How were lessons?" she asked as her daughters went to go play.

"They were fine," Lena said. She wasn't going to be the one to mention the twins' failed prank, but she wasn't going to give Astra the opportunity to confess right off the bat. "Sir Daniel gave me three battlefield problems to solve and I finished them all."

"That's great!" the Marchioness replied cheerily. She took her son off the changing table and turned to face the girls, only for her face to morph into a frown. "Astra, Tara, you were not wearing one another's dresses at lunchtime. What's going on?"

"Oh, we were just having a bit of fun, Mama," Tara grumbled, setting up some blocks. "Sir Daniel didn't think it was funny."

"Well just don't think that you're fooling anyone," Mama scolded. "I gave birth to you—I _know_ my girls."

"Yes, Mama," Astra nodded as she had her toy unicorn jump over Tara's block wall. She waited until after the Marchioness put their brother down to play and left the room before she pouted at her sister. "I _told_ you we'd get in trouble."

"At least we weren't trying to trick Mama," Tara sniped. She watched as Sterling crawled over and toppled the block wall, babbling happily as he did so. "Sterling! No! Don't do that!" She picked him up by the middle and dragged him over to the stuffed animals, where she dropped him in face-down. "Stars, babies are stupid."

"…and they grow up stupid if their sisters keep throwing them around," Lena scolded. She rescued Sterling from the toy pile and brought him over to her dolls, where she was having a tea party. The toddler sat down patiently in the toy chair and happily hugged the little doll his eldest sister handed him. "Mama said you have to be _careful_ with babies."

"I didn't put him in the block bin this time," Tara defended. Lena balled up her hands into fists and put them on her hips, intensely cross. She was just about to continue her lecture when the Marquis burst into the room.

"Don't mind me; just need to look out the window," he said, crossing the nursery quickly, his cloak billowing out behind him. He peered through the glass, a judgmental glare on his face. "Astra, starlet, come over here please. I want to know if you can see this."

"Okay, Papa," she replied. The little girl ran over to her father's side and climbed up on top of the toy chest by the window so as to press her nose against the glass. The Marquis looked over at his daughter and blinked.

"Tara, don't think you can replace your sister if I call for her," he huffed. "Just because you look the same doesn't mean you're interchangeable."

"…but Papa…"

"No buts. Now, can you see the topiaries from here?"

"Yeah…?"

"Now what does the one look like, the leftmost?"

"Uhh… like Old Gallifreyan…? What does it say, Papa?"

"Never you mind; thank you, Tara. Now I know I'm not just seeing things. Looks like I need to have a word with the new help we have with the gardens." With that the Marquis glowered his way back out of the room, leaving the girls speechless.

"…woah. Papa can't tell us apart…" Tara marveled. "Our dresses are different for _Papa_."

"Maybe he just wasn't paying attention because he was angry at whoever did the thing to the topiary," Astra suggested. She looked back out the window and squinted. "I wish I knew what that said. It looks complicated. Can you read it Lena?" Her sister came and joined her, scrunching her nose as she read.

"I can, but I don't know what it means. Do you think it's something rude?"

"It must be if Papa's that upset…"

"Astra! _We're assigned colors because of **Papa**_!" Tara repeated. "This means it _works_!" She brushed off Sterling, who had crawled over to her side and began tugging on the hem of her dress in a demand to be picked up, and rushed over to her sisters. "We can still get away with fooling Papa!"

"I'm not wearing another one of your dresses again," Astra frowned. Her twin simply hopped about the nursery in glee.

"You don't have to do anything, oh cool, oh cool, oh **_cool_**!" Tara shrieked. "This is going to be so much fun!" She only stopped her ecstatic giggling when Lena pelted her in the back of the head with a doll. A fight soon developed, which the Marchioness interrupted when she came back to fetch her youngest and instead found Tara in a choke-hold and Astra trying to keep their brother far from the fray. Both Tara and Lena were grounded for a week with no dessert.

* * *

The Marquis carefully examined himself in the long mirror, making sure everything was in place before he left. In an hour he would begin the long, annoying ride out to the capital and he at least wanted to appear as if he cared. When everything seemed in order, he knocked on the door to the nursery.

"Starlets, I'm coming in," he announced. As soon as he opened the door, his daughters rammed into his legs in an attempt to get in as many hugs as possible before he left.

"You're just going to the capital! We can go too!" Lena demanded. "It's not dangerous at all!"

"I'm going to a conference, so while it's not dangerous, that is true, I'm afraid you'll find it very boring," the Marquis said. He knelt down to be at eye-level with the children and hugged his girls. Once he was done, Sterling was finally able to catch up and waddled over for a hug of his own. His father picked him up and stood, chuckling wistfully, knowing full-well that before they knew it his kids would be demanding to stay at home instead. "Just keep your mama company until I return, okay?"

"Okay," the girls chorused. They rushed back to their toys, ready to get in as much playtime before their lessons as possible. The Marquis bounced the toddler in his arms and poked his nose.

"You behave for your mama as well, alright?" he told the boy, who babbled in reply. As the toddler began to grab at his father's whiskers, the Marquis raised his voice. "Oh, and Tara? Come here please."

"Yes, Papa," the girl replied. She bounded up to the Marquis and waited for his attention, which came with a double-take.

"Astra, I thought I said the other day that you're not to try to act like you're interchangeable," he said firmly. He watched as his daughter tilted her head.

"What do you mean by that, Papa?" she asked. The Marquis looked at her—brown hair in a long braid, a pale green dress, and her mother's dark eyes—and then glanced over at his other two daughters. Yes, that was Lena there, but the other twin was there… _in blue_. He closed his eyes and cursed in the ceremonial tongue.

"Okay, Astra, Tara, _Astara_ , I don't care which one you are anymore; just work all this tomfoolery out of your system by the time I return, alright?"

"Yes, Papa," the girl in front of him giggled. He passed her Sterling and left in a huff, genuinely upset although trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. As soon as she was sure her father was out of earshot, Tara dropped her brother on his rear end and, while ignoring his crying, laughed hysterically.

"Tar _a_ …" Lena growled. She stomped over and hit her sister on the back of the head before picking up their brother to calm him down. Sterling's sobs had barely even subsided before Tara's heel was in their sister's back and it was down to Astra to once again keep the toddler safe until their mother broke up the scuffle.

No dessert for a _month_.

* * *

The entire ride to the capital the Marquis was grumpier than usual. Everyone in his escort was too afraid to ask and few had any guess as to what it might have been. They kept their ideas to themselves, lest they risk the wrath and ire of their lord and a scolding in a language so ancient it seemed to make the sky above bend at his mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always been interested with the concept of identical twin shenanigans, since all the twins I was ever acquainted with until high school were fraternal. Needless to say, there's always ways to be able to tell identical twins apart, and Johan will get better at it. One day. He's trying though.


	8. A Vole's Counsel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter takes place with Johan at 53, Clara at 34, Lena at 3, and the twins at 1 year old.

If there was one thing Lord Johan Lonan, Marquis of Kasterborous, blood-descendant of the Ancient Gallifreyans and (generally) respected ruler of the March, knew it was that he severely disliked being told what to do.

Granted, some of this was actual advice he asked of the local serdars and elders and military strategists. When they came into the picture, usually in the manner of him requiring a second or third opinion and him approaching them, it was acceptable to tell him what course of action to take. The Marchioness, for obvious reasons, was often a wealth of good ideas and even better execution. These were methods and people that usually did not make the Marquis's nostrils flare and whiskers bristle, but the ones that offered their counsel without request or warrant were the ones that irked him most.

"I think the time is well overdue to hire a governess, milord," a serdar mentioned casually as the Marquis sat down on the wide governance chair. It was very early yet, with few in the hall and most of them being servants doing the finishing touches on their daily cleaning. With Tara in a red dress in one arm, Astra in blue in the other, and the purple-clad Lena struggling to climb up into her father's lap, the Marquis looked nearly comical as he tried juggling the toddlers.

"They are _my_ children and I am not going to let some stranger take them from me only to mistreat them and play favorites," the Marquis grumbled. He gently uncovered himself, putting his daughters in the space where his wife would sit were she around for court. "Besides, you enjoy being with your papa, don't you starlet?"

"Yes!" Lena replied happily. She bounced up and down in place, a toothy grin on her face. "Papa's the best!"

"See? The Earlessa of Gallifrey agrees," her father deadpanned. "Now why would anyone want to disappoint the young Earlessa?"

"All I'm saying is that it will be easier when she comes of schooling age next year," the serdar said, trying to shrug it off. He watched as Astra curled up in the Marquis's side and hunkered down for a mid-morning nap, while Tara and Lena played with the stuffed dragon toy the former had brought along in her arms from the nursery. It was all _heartwarming_ , yes, but it was also highly unconventional. "How can you be so sure that you both will take the separation well? You say you don't want a stranger taking her, but isn't that what will happen?"

"I have had her tutor chosen from before she showed in her mother's womb," the Marquis said, stroking Astra's hair. "He will treat her as his own and there is not a moment I shall worry about her. She will still make appearances in court, as her practical lessons began the day she was born."

"…but milord, you and Her Ladyship have produced _daughters_. I have no problem believing you will soon have a son with the rate you are going, but if you don't and these children are it, then that leaves the cadet branch to protest a female ruler when they have many males. Get the girls a governess, let them become proper ladies, and keep trying for a son." The serdar attempted to stand his ground as the Marquis shot him the glare he had perfected in widowhood and sorrow.

"I am _sick_ of hearing about my father's cousins. The day I step down and Lena takes my place, the cadet branch officially becomes the twins and any other child, male or female, that my lady wife bears, locking those banished pretenders out for good." The Marquis straightened his back, which puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders. "They will no longer have any hope of claim to this seat. Wolves do not intimidate the owl, who in his wisdom learned how to confuse and hinder the pack's efforts from his vantage points in the air and trees. They are still birds of prey."

"As long as they are birds of prey and not merely cottonseed fluff with a beak and legs, as many see them otherwise." The serdar bowed and excused himself, leaving the Marquis's side as more people began to file in and court prepared for the day.

"Lena?" the Marquis growled, not taking his eyes off the retreating serdar. The little girl looked up at him.

"What, Papa?"

"You are a clever child; do not be intimidated by voles like him." He turned towards his eldest and gave her the barest smile, flicking her nose playfully with a fingertip. "You are a star in Papa's sky, but you are also an owlet in the nest. One day you will take flight and make dinner of his kind."

"I don't get it," she giggled. "You're silly, Papa."

The Marquis leaned down and kissed his daughter's crown; of course she didn't understand. It would be years before she would understand. When she did, however, he hoped to be around to watch as she brought down the opponents with wrath and glory.

* * *

Court was long that day, as well as boring. Most of the squabbles (and they were nothing more than that, to the Marquis's dismay) were petty arguments amongst some of the lesser lords and wealthy of the land. A light lunch had been served during the hearing of complaints, and once it was the time to adjourn for the day and head for tea, the Marquis felt half-starved.

"Alright, starlets, time to go to Mama and teatime," he announced softly as he stood. The girls had been napping in a pile under his cape, curled up together for the afternoon. They rubbed their eyes groggily as their father nudged them awake.

"Teatime?" Lena echoed. Her sisters babbled incoherently as they crawled over to the Marquis and were immediately picked up. Their sister, however, was not as pleased. "Carry me too."

"I'm sorry, starlet, but I only have two arms," he replied. It hurt to admit, and with each passing time he said it the pain only grew worse. "Your sisters don't walk very well yet, and that's why they are carried."

"…but your shoulders," she protested grumpily. "Papa… _shoulders_." Lena held her arms up and outwards, demanding to be placated.

After a moment's thought, the Marquis sat back down and jerked his head. "Climb on." It took no time at all before Lena scaled his back and fixed herself firmly on his shoulders, hugging his forehead for stability and her face resting in his pillow-like fluff of hair. He stood up and without a word proudly carried his sleepy, and admittedly cranky, children throughout the castle.

_He could carry all three_.

The sight, although expected as the natural progression of things, made the castle staff chuckle to themselves as the Marquis navigated the winding corridors in search of his wife. By the time he found the Marchioness, hunched over some farmland boundary maps in the study, the water for tea was nearly cold.

"…and what's this?" she asked, watching as the sight of her husband and daughters. He grinned at her in accomplishment, moving carefully as to not accidentally throw Lena as he bent down for a kiss.

"I beat the odds; I won against the two-arm conundrum," he beamed. The Marchioness stood and took the twins from the Marquis, freeing up his hands to pull their eldest from his shoulders. Still in napping mode, all three girls found the couch and piled on one another again. "Our owlets are now all able to be carried by their papa."

" _Starlets_ , _owlets_ … you have to be careful how many names you find for our daughters," she laughed. She saw her husband's face draw long and concerned, prompting her to gently wrap her arms around his waist. "What's wrong?" He returned the gesture at her shoulders, wrapping her protectively in a cocoon of arms and cape.

"Our _children_ ," he replied, voice low and gruff. "Our children are starlets, owlets, whatever I deem fit, even that means _liege lady, most noble and potent princess_ , the land's highest authority after the king…"

"Someone insisted you try for a male heir again, didn't they?"

"Mice, the lot of them, not realizing the power our owlets shall have over them in merely two decades' time," he muttered. "I cannot outright sack a serdar for being impudent over such a matter, but I can make sure to condition our heir to take no prisoners and shred her enemies without the thought of mercy."

"Johan, you're overreacting again," the Marchioness sighed. "Lena's _three_."

"…and she's had enemies from the moment her birth was announced, and even more since I named her our heir no matter what the future holds," the Marquis said. He glanced over at his sleeping children and frowned. "They are our legacy, and they will not be denied any birthright simply because others would happily pass them over without a second thought. We shall teach them to be clever and strong, with Daniel pushing the limits of their intellect and wits. Our children will be great and powerful and nothing will stand in their way."

"Let's concentrate on getting them to schooling age first, _then_ we can worry about how they will embarrass the lesser lords." She rubbed his back and tutted affectionately. "They are so lucky to have such a protective papa. I'm sure they will have no problem holding their own when the time comes."

"Hold their own and make us proud, bringing nothing but misfortune and destruction to their adversaries," he replied. Gently, he untangled himself from his wife and led her over to the empty space on the couch. The Marquis sat down and guided the Marchioness into his lap, wrapping his cape around them as they both leaned into a kiss. They then remained there, unmoving and languidly caressing, until their daughters woke and it was time to go down to dinner.

* * *

The next morning came and both Marquis and Marchioness prepared to attend court. There had been disputes from the previous day that had yet to be resolved, so they imagined that a showing from both of them would be enough to intimidate most dissenters into giving up their not-so-mighty causes and leave them alone. They readied their daughters, broke their fast, and made their grand appearance. The effort had been in vain, however, as the bickering continued and they were forced to mediate between grown adults whilst the children at their feet behaved impeccably.

It was nearly time to dismiss for luncheon when the serdar from the day before was announced as a complainant. He stepped forward, his head held high and his jaw grit in determination.

"What is the issue you bring forth to this court?" the Marquis asked. "This better be good, because I am hungry."

"I have a petition, milord, concerning your issue," the serdar replied. His liege lady remained stone-faced, while his lord's brow furrowed angrily.

" _What_ about my issue?" he glowered. The serdar gulped as he took some parchment from his pocket and began to read from it.

" _'It is the aim of this petition to protect the Marquis Johan Lonan's ability to govern and hold reign over his people by advising him to make permanent decisions regarding the inheritance of the marquisate in a premature manner'_ ," he read. " _'The people do not know the sole rule of a woman and it is unknown how they shall react when such a time comes and the Earlessa Lena Anthea of Kasterborous and Gallifrey inherits her father's seat no matter what gender her siblings may be'_ …"

"How **_dare_** you," the Marquis growled. His wife put a hand to his heaving chest, holding him in their chair while keeping her eyes on the serdar. He sat there, white-knuckling the armrest and curling his lip into a sneer.

"Are you a gods-fearing man, Lord Serdar?" the Marchioness asked plainly.

"Why, no I am not, Your Ladyship," he sputtered. "I only make this complaint with thoughts of your husband and daughters, not of my gain."

"…and I believe you on that account," she nodded. She picked up Lena, who was offering Mama a doll, and sat her in the bit of chair left between her and her husband. "However, I need to remind you of this: if you decide to object to your future liege lady's tenure again, I shall personally make sure that the King strips the serdarship from your family's lineage and no one will want your counsel ever again." She stroked Lena's braid and smiled, sweetly at her daughter and eerily at the serdar. "By the time I finish with you, it will be all you can do to pray to the gods and stars to turn back time and right your wrongdoing. The people have time to adjust to the thought of calling a woman their Doctor, and considering that is what they already refer to me as, I feel that they shall take the change of pace well."

"Y-Yes milady," the serdar said. He bowed shakily and recess was called. It was only after the governance hall emptied did the Marquis and Marchioness resume speaking freely.

"He should be glad that on-the-spot defenestration as punishment has long turned faux-pas," he sneered, glaring at the door. He picked up Lena and Tara, while his wife carried Astra, and they made their way to their chambers to take their lunch. "I will make him regret his repeated insolence."

"Behave, Johan," the Marchioness sighed. "Something tells me he is going to turn in his notice soon and begin searching for a new lord to counsel." She opened the door to their chambers and saw that the children's lunch was already there. Once the girls were fed and put down for a nap their lunch came, which was consumed in peace and quiet.

"I do have to say though," the Marquis mentioned as he dabbed at his whiskers with a napkin, "that you were excellent when dealing with that nimrod earlier."

"Was I now?" she asked as their plates and trays were cleared and they were left alone. "His advisor's title was given generations ago—he is one who is weak-willed and unable to put up a real fight." She placed her hand atop her husbands and gave him a glance soft and kind. He picked up her hand and kissed the palm.

"I am truly humbled to have such a force of nature at my side, a true paragon of a noble's might." His lips brushed against her wrist and her spine tingled. "Lay with me please, as we rest in preparation for the remainder of the day."

"It would be my honor," the Marchioness replied, bringing his face up so their lips could meet. They laid on the blankets, using his cape for warmth as they curled into one another, barely able to get a nap in before being attacked by their daughters' tackling kisses. When the family returned to finish off attending court, they found that the overly-insistent serdar was no longer in attendance. It was good riddance and easy going for the remainder of the day, few others wishing to ride on the ire the serdar had created. By the time court adjourned for good, not to start up again for the remainder of the week, the lord and lady of the land were confident they and their heir would not be contested for a long time to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I should probably go into explanation mode when it comes to these things called noble rankings. Within the setting of the unnamed kingdom the nobility's hierarchy is a bit different than what is most often depicted in these sorts of things. Typical Anglo titles usually go King/Queen-Prince/ess-Duke/Duchess-Marquess/Marquis/Marchioness-Earl/Countess-Viscount/ess-Baron/ess-Baronet/ess. HOWEVER, I have decided to make things more complicated and not only bring in the title of Count (keeping it the same rank an Earl, which is what the title is equivalent to in real life (leaving the difference in-universe to be a matter of semantics), while making the feminine of Earl an Earlessa instead), but also importing the Ottoman rank of Serdar (and inventing the Serdaressa), derived from the Indo-Iranian Sirdar. Real life serdars were often military men, but in this story they have a sort of fluid rank level, operating as advisers to other lords and ladies and taking their prestige from who they [have] served. SASBB serdar/essas are created by the king just like a normal knighthood, except with more power, often hereditary, and can have their title revoked.


	9. The Bit of A Wobble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter takes place when Johan is 62 and Clara is 43. As far as the kids, ages are Lena at 12, Astra/Tara at 10, Sterling at 6, and Maglina at 4.

Floating serenely back to consciousness, the Marquis smiled privately as he woke up flush up against his wife with an arm around her waist. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and propped himself up in bed. Their youngest was nestled in her other side, the girl having crept in during the night, preventing him from doing more to wake the Marchioness than brushing his lips lightly against hers.

"Morning," he murmured as her eyes fluttered open. She chuckled hazily and brought his face down for another kiss.

"How did you sleep?" she asked.

"Well," he replied before getting out of bed. The Marquis went to his wardrobe and chose his clothes for the day while the Marchioness took their daughter back to the nursery to sleep a little while longer. He had on his breeches and shirt by the time she returned so that she could dress and they could sit in peace before the children woke up.

Through the corner of his eye, the Marquis watched the Marchioness as she dressed in the wan violet light filtering in through the window. She was motherly curves and delicate features; to him his wife was the epitome of all the things a marchioness and Doctor should have been from her demeanor down to how she held herself while in court. Beautiful and terrifying, she was precisely the figure of the just and noble ladies that were in the children's faerie stories.

Looking back into the mirror though brought another reality to the forefront: his age. The Marquis, already past his sixtieth year, was ancient and decrepit in comparison. Still tall, still thin and gangly, and with a back he swore was beginning to show signs of bending; he was more and more the gargoyle by the day. The Marchioness, she had not outwardly aged even half of the years they had been married, but _he_ … he was old and very clearly, to his eyes at least, with one foot already in the earth. Provided he stayed out of the line of fire while with the soldiers, he still had many decades ahead of him, making it so that his quickly-faded youth was now leagues more noticeable next to his lovely wife. She may have begun the process of becoming barren, but he was the one who appeared to be advancing in years.

"Is everything alright, Johan?" the Marchioness asked. He emerged from his thoughts in a reluctant haze.

"Lost in thought, dearest," he replied. "There's just a lot we need to get done within the fortnight if we want to host that treaty signing."

The Marchioness studied her husband as he fumbled with the clasps of his jacket. He was obviously lying—they had not been married near twenty years without her picking up a thing or two about his mannerisms—but what exactly he had been thinking of instead was the great mystery. It would surface, eventually, she figured, and dropped the thought for the time being.

"So tell me, Johan, what is your opinion on the king's proposed tax levy?"

* * *

As the rest of the day progressed, the Marchioness discovered she was in a situation she had not found herself in for a long time: being avoided by her husband. They sat next to one another during court as was per normal, his hand over hers and only stealing glances to talk, yet elsewise he seemed to dodge her presence at all costs. Even at dinner, with her at one end of the table and him at the other, he kept himself nearly _over-occupied_ with inquiring about the children's day and what they had learned under the schoolmaster's tutelage. He could barely so much as look at her without seeming awkward and distant.

"Johan, come to bed," the Marchioness insisted that night as she turned in for the evening. She patted the empty part of the mattress and gave her husband a smile. He did not see either action; his back was turned towards her as he sat hunched over papers spread across the writing desk across the room, working by lamplight. "We haven't been together more than five minutes today since the children woke—please."

"My apologies, but I have work to do, my dear," he replied. The Marquis did not so much as turn towards his wife as she gave him a scowl. "Just give me a couple more minutes."

"Not a couple more minutes, _now_. What has come over you?" She was just about to physically drag him away when the nursery door opened and Maglina came shuffling in, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"Mama, can I stay with you and Papa tonight?" she asked as she tossed her grey stuffed bunny into the bed and crawled in after it. "Astra and Sterling are asleep and Tara shoved me out."

"Of course you can, sweetheart," the Marchioness said gently. She tossed a glare at her husband before settling down with their youngest child. "Papa has some things to take care of yet, so it will only be you and me tonight."

"Okay…" the girl yawned. The two then nestled in for bed, falling asleep quickly. Once he was sure they were both sleeping, the Marquis changed into his nightdress and went to bed himself, staying on the far side of the mattress as to not touch his wife. Rest did not come easily and when it did it was too light and agitated to do him much good. He kept on stirring and waking, spending the long moments in between gazing lovingly, longingly, achingly, at his wife as she lay with their daughter curled into her chest. It was all he wanted to simply touch her, but part of him said that doing so would be a mistake, that it would only be another crime for the ogre to atone for.

The Marquis rose early, unable to sleep properly, and went to the study for an early jump on his paperwork. The least he could do, he decided, was allow his wife to have as little work as possible while he figured out how to make things right again.

* * *

As the Marchioness suffered through another day of avoidance and loneliness, she began to wonder what was going on. A single day could be attributed to her husband's mood taking a temporary dive due to stress and worry. With the treaty signing not too far off, that was what she had gone to sleep attributing it to the night before yet this… this was different. He wasn't jittery or asking her hundreds of questions as he second-guessed everything known to man—instead he ducked to avoid her, backed away when she cornered him, and even gave her the slip for the entire afternoon. It was nowhere near their anniversary, both their marriage's and their courtship's, which gave him no reason as to keep anything from her.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," she whispered as she tucked Maglina into bed. The twins and Sterling were already settled in, and she trusted Lena to go to bed in her own room, but making sure her youngest was down was essential to the Marchioness. She kissed the girl's forehead and gave her a smile.

"Malcolm needs kisses too, Mama," the little girl insisted, holding up her bunny. Her mama gave the toy a kiss on the nose and pulled the blankets over Maglina as she snuggled in for the night.

"Now, will you promise to stay in your own bed tonight? No going to visit Papa and me, or your brother and sisters?"

"Uh-huh. ' _Big girls can sleep by themselves'_."

"That's right. Now I'll see you in the morning."

One more kiss for girl and bunny alike and the Marchioness slipped into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. It nearly surprised her to find her husband standing by the armchairs with a tea tray in his hands.

"…and where have you been all day?" she asked as she crossed the room. The Marquis put the tray down on the table and sat wordlessly. "I've been worried about you, you know."

"I'm sorry," he replied quietly. "I've been cruel."

"You're not cruel, just… tell me what's going on," the Marchioness sighed. She took the chair next to him and watched as he measured out the leaves for their tea in their cup strainers and poured in the hot water.

"It's difficult for me to say," he said. "I noticed it yesterday as we were dressing for the morning."

"Noticed what, exactly?"

He hesitated, contemplating whether he should answer or not. "You are truly an ageless beauty, unparalleled in spirit and grace while I… I am anything but."

"Johan, I'm not ageless," she argued gently. "I have greys in my hair and am beginning to grow barren; our eldest is twelve and I was well past the age for debutante balls when I had her. You're being ridiculous."

"That's where you're wrong: to me, you have barely aged since our wedding day. All the years you should have gained were transferred to me instead, leaving you without fault."

"Honestly, Johan… and you wonder why our youngest has such a theatrical flair," the Marchioness scoffed, rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. She grumpily accepted her tea once her husband took the strainer out and gingerly handed it to her. Sitting upright again, she saw that the tea was not their usual for when they turned in for the night. The liquid smelled light and flowery, and when she drank it she found it to be delicate and smooth with a subtle bite at the end. "What… what is this? I've never had anything like it before."

"That's because I just blended it, as an apology," he explained. "This tea represents how I feel about you—how I've _felt_ about you—from even before we started our courtship, through the birth of our first child, and to this very moment. I've been thinking as of late, and although I do not question your intentions and what you've said tonight, I wonder if I've truly made you happy underneath it all."

"Now why would you think that?" she frowned, furrowing her brow. "Johan, you are my _husband_."

"Yes, but had you been given the choice from the start I wouldn't be. The blood of the Ancient Gallifreyans runs through my veins and because of that my life will be a long one if it is not ended along the border." He paused, exhaling heavily as he focused his gaze on a bit of rug a few feet away. "Grief and constant work aged me prematurely, which means that you were saddled with a decrepit ogre who went old long before he kidnapped the fair maiden from her father's castle. You should have had someone youthful and peerless as yourself… not me. I am ugly and selfish and not a good man, far from the gentle prince of the children's faerie stories."

"That's not true…" the Marchioness began. She was cut short when the Marquis held up his hand to gently silence her.

"…but it is. Please forgive me for condemning you to this life. You deserve so much more than me." He kissed her brow and stood up to cross the room and retreat underneath the bedding. Dumbstruck, his wife looked down at her teacup in confusion.

' _What brought this on?_ ' she wondered. ' _I am married to a poetic idiot_.' She finished off her cup and retired as well, making sure to remain as far away from the Marquis as possible while they lay.

* * *

The following evening as the Marquis put his children to bed, his hearts ached as he thought about the day's events. Instead of needing to avoid his wife, she had avoided him, giving him the coldest glares and curtest replies she could possibly manage. It felt as if his marriage was quickly dissolving before his eyes. They'd only need his bedchamber as the nursery for seven more years—five if Sterling and Maglina moved out at the same time—and it made him wonder how long he could last in such a situation.

Quietly walking out of the nursery, the Marquis silently took his usual seat next to the Marchioness and sighed dejectedly as she seemed to ignore him in lieu of her tea.

"Clara… we need to talk."

"No we don't," she replied. "We don't need to talk because there frankly is nothing to talk about."

"…but there _is_. My dear, I'm sorry if what I said last night upset you, but you know nothing of how this weighs on me…"

"I think I know perfectly well," she said, "and I still think you're being silly. People worry about themselves when they reach middle age often, so it's honestly nothing to fear."

"…but the past few days…"

"…have been dreadful, yes, but I think we need a couple dreadful days now and then to remind ourselves how lucky we are otherwise." She poured him a cup of tea and handed it to him delicately. "Here, have some of this."

"…but you know I take sugar in my…"

" _I_ blended it for _you_ ," she replied, cutting him off. "Drink the first cup plain, to understand the flavor. Then you can put all the sugar you want in it."

The Marquis paused before taking the initial sip. His eyebrows shot up as he took in the strong flavor, spiced and robust and hearty. Another taste and his surprise at the tea's full body only greatened.

"You said… you said this tea was for me," he said quietly. The Marchioness refilled her own cup and leaned back in her chair, nodding.

"You put together a tea that showed how you felt about me, so I created one that shows how I feel about you," she said. She took her own sip of tea and sighed contently, clearly confident in her choice.

"I never thought you were unhappy, but I never imagined that you would feel this way about me," the Marquis said. "Is this just how you felt at the start of our courtship?"

"It was how I felt then and it's how I feel now," she assured. "You are the father of my children, all _five_ of my children. I could have stopped consenting after we had our heir, but instead I gave birth three more times… the last of which nearly killed me. I'd do it all over again if given the chance."

"That..." He hesitated, looking down into his cup. "You humble me, dearest. All this time I worried about one day you waking up to find yourself chained to an old and tired ogre without having aged yourself… but this…"

"Johan, I've never thought of you as that," the Marchioness replied firmly. She placed her cup on the table and knelt down before him, gently holding his jaw with her hands. "Even if you _were_ an ogre, some princesses in faerie stories only see their gentle prince. Others may see warts and fangs and many faults on which to judge, but I see _you_ , and I always have. I see a good man—one who tries to help the best he can—who is a brilliant ruler and commander, a dedicated father, and an affectionate husband. Maybe you did kidnap the fair maiden, once upon a time, but the maiden is now a mother and considers her brood to be one of the luckiest the land has ever known." She kissed his brow and stood up, going over to the vanity across the room to begin brushing through her hair for the night. Her husband remained seated, perplexed beyond belief.

' _She sees **me**_ ,' he sighed. He downed the remainder of his tea and breathed the residual scent happily. ' _I'm such a fool—she has never wanted another since our courtship began, so what more could I want?_ ' Glancing over at his wife, he smiled almost bashfully. ' _I want to have her as she has me…_ ' The Marquis put his cup down on the table and stood up to cross the room. He put his hands on his wife's waist and leaned down, his whiskers just barely grazing her cheek.

"Come to bed, please," he murmured softly. "I need to thank you for creating such an excellent blend."

"As long as that's not the only thing you're thanking me for," she replied. Turning her head slowly, she touched the tip of her nose to his and gazed into his eyes. The smell of the tea was still on their breath, heavy and sweet with spice.

They both inhaled sharply and scrambled away from the vanity. The Marchioness went over to the bed and crawled in, starting to undo the lacing on the back of her dress, while the Marquis slid a heavy chair in front of the nursery door. He undid his collar and allowed his cape to drop to the floor as he made his way over to his wife's side. Grabbing her face, he kissed her hungrily, with such a sudden ferocity that she forgot the very last of the lacing and fell backwards into the mattress. Hips bucking and hands grasping at impeding fabric, by the time they undressed one another they were breathing huskily and already ached from the enthusiastic start. Neither slowed down as fingers tangled in hair and old, ancient poetry in the ceremonial tongue was muttered between thrusts and over breasts.

Despite the early hour, both Marquis and Marchioness fell asleep upon completion, cuddled in one another's arms underneath the bedding as they drifted off happily. A long, peaceful rest later and they woke up nose-to-nose across the pillow, giggling at the memory of the previous night's activities. Still sore, they laid in bed until a knock at the nursery door told them the children were awake and in want of their attention. Forced out of bed, they faced the day more exhausted than when they retired to their chambers the night before, but at least it was the sort of fatigue that meant all was well.

* * *

The next few months for the heads of the marquisate were spent in bliss as they allowed themselves to be swept away with a renewed sense of vigor. Never since their courtship had their marriage been loveless, nor had it ever been without affection of some sort since the moment they first arrived in Gallifrey, though something about the teas sent a spark through them that seemed to light the night sky by the smells alone. It wasn't until one night when the moon was absent from the sky and the Marquis was nestled in his wife's arms did a topic long-thought abandoned reared its head once again.

"Uh, Johan…? There's something I need to tell you," the Marchioness whispered into his disheveled fluff of hair. She felt her husband roll over and his breath lightly pass over her crown.

"I'm listening," he said.

"You know how the past year my moon-cycle has not been consistent?" she asked. He made a noise in reply, urging her to continue. "Well, I don't think it will be coming again for a while."

"Do things really slow down that quickly?" the Marquis wondered. "I thought the physician said it likely won't stop until you're in your fifties."

"Johan, I'm _with child_ ," the Marchioness said. She could hear the sharp intake of air that was accompanying his shock and knew his eyes had gone wide in the darkness. "I know we were told that it was less likely this would happen now that I'm aging into barrenness, but until my moon-cycles stop for good…"

"No, I understand," he murmured. His hand traveled down her back and settled on her hip. "Maglina was supposed to be our last child—what are we going to tell the children?"

"If they ask, that we were both very scared when she was born, so scared it made us decide hastily, but that now we're confident again for one more go. To be dead-honest, this child is as much a surprise as Lena was at first."

"Yes, a _surprise_. That is definitely a good word for it," he agreed. "We want as many children as we can have, and to say that a child now is a welcome surprise sounds much, much better." He tucked her head beneath his chin and sighed. "Let us wait until you're showing before we say anything to anyone, even the children. There will be less commotion that way."

"Oh, _gods_ ," the Marchioness groaned, tapping her forehead against her husband's chest. "The twins will be out of the nursery by the time this baby is born. Three out of the nursery and three in; it'll be a nightmare."

The Marquis paused and thought for a moment before chuckling, "It could be worse."

"How could it _possibly_ be worse?"

"We could have _all six_ in the nursery, and what would we do then?" he asked. Humming contently, he ran his hand over his wife's hips while pressing a kiss to her brow. "Maybe we should go easy on the special tea."

"You think?" she laughed awkwardly. "Counting backwards, I think I actually can time it to when I first put together your blend. Honestly Johan, whatever we did that night, we need to be certain we not do again until I am absolutely, positively, _done_ with my moon-cycles."

"If we can make it that long…"

"We shall and we must—this child will be good for their elder siblings, but I'm already old enough to where _I'm_ going to be the one fretting over the birth." The Marchioness's grip on her husband clenched a smidgeon tighter and she inhaled deeply, filling her nose with his scent. "Another star for our sky—the last star—our Evening Star."

" _Seren_ ," the Marquis whispered. "Their name shall be Seren. It's a name that's old like Lena's, and has been borne by a great many Gallifreyan men and women. That was the name for the Evening Star and was nearly what my papa had named me."

"What made him change his mind?"

"Mama wanted to name me after my grandpapa, so a Johan I became," he said. "Papa got to choose my middle name, though Mama still had to temper him, and that was that."

"You wouldn't be the same if you were a Seren," she said. "I didn't know it was a Gallifreyan name."

"One of the oldest; it was used by the chieftains, before Lords and Doctors and the like. The name spread to other lands and became native; it even crossed the seas."

"…but only for their daughters."

"That is not my problem," the Marquis scoffed. He then exhaled in happiness. "We'll discuss this further in the morning, hmm? How about it?"

"Yes—I am tired. Good night, Johan."

"Good night Clara, Seren; until the morning."


	10. The Academy Brat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place a few months after the end of the previous.

With a mighty grunt, Tara flipped her sister Lena over her shoulder and into the dust. Both girls were breathing heavily and caked in dirt and sweat. A whistle cut through the air and they looked over at their tutor, whom was having a difficult time hiding his prideful grin.

"Good job, ladies," he said, clapping respectfully. "You can take a break now." The tutor then turned to the horrified younger children—Sterling, Maglina, and his own daughter Oriana—and folded his hands behind his back. "This is the level I want the three of you to be at when you're their age. Oriana? How long was that match?"

"Twelve minutes, forty-three seconds," the girl said, holding up a pocketwatch. "But Dad, Tara's _really good_ … I don't know if I'll ever be as good as her at grappling."

"As long as you try, that's what counts the most," the tutor replied kindly. "I want the three of you to be able to hold your own against one another, just like Lena and Tara."

"With all due respect, Sir Daniel, but Tara was pulling her punches," Lena mentioned. The tutor turned and saw her examining a rip in the knee of her breeches while her sister kicked at the dirt.

"What…?"

"I don't go all-out against Lena, because she can't be going to court with two shiners and a gash on her face," Tara shrugged casually. "I do have _some_ restraint."

"Hmm. I see," the tutor said. He thought for a moment before nodding slowly, clearly having come to a decision on something. "When do you think your parents are available to speak with me next?"

"Wait, you can't get her in trouble for going easy on me!" Lena gasped. She furrowed her brows in outrage. "That's not fair!"

"Hey, hey, relax—Tara's not in any sort of trouble," the tutor assured with a laugh. "It's just that we need to discuss something before it's too late."

Now _that_ confused the children. "Too late for what, Sir Daniel?" Maglina asked. "Is it too late for Astra too? Should I get her from violin practice?"

"No dear; no one is in trouble and nothing is wrong. Sometimes adults need to talk about things, that's all." He patted the girl on the head and gave her a smile.

"Then what do you need to talk to Mama and Papa about?" Tara wondered.

"Oh, I think you'll like this conversation," the tutor chuckled.

* * *

The Marquis and Marchioness appeared an equal mixture of concerned and confused as they sat down to tea with their daughter and friend. Tara sat with her back stiff and white-knuckling the sides of her chair, her eyes flitting from one adult to another.

"What has Tara done this time?" the Marquis asked, tone level and practiced. The tutor shook his head.

"Nothing worth scolding over," the tutor replied. "If I'm not mistaken, you're going to make your yearly rounds of the Gallifreyan schools soon, correct?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with Tara?"

"Everything." The tutor leaned back in his chair and motioned towards the tween. "When you make your visit to the military Academy, I think it would be in your best interest to talk to with the headmistress and have her set aside a spot for Tara in the autumn enrollment."

"Has she been acting difficult again?" the Marchioness asked, sternly focusing her attention on her daughter. The tutor shook his head.

"No; it's just that there's little more I can do for her and once she hits that ceiling she won't be able to go higher," he explained. "If Sterling was a bit older and more athletic I could _try_ to figure out something, but unless you want me to start appropriating the grounds crew into her personal punching bags we have no choice but to send her to the Academy."

Tara's eyes lit up in excitement. "You mean, go to school? An actual school with other kids where we're _told_ to beat each other up and not have to worry about giving opponents black eyes or twisted ankles?!" She began to bounce up and down in excitement. "Can I? Mama? Papa? Can I?"

Both Marquis and Marchioness went silent, with him folding his hands and propping his elbows on the table and her touching her stomach that was beginning to show child.

"Tara?"

"Y-Yes Papa?"

"Leave us, please."

"Okay…" She slipped off her chair and left the lounge, closing the door behind her. At the end of the hall stood her siblings and Oriana, even Astra fresh from violin practice, and she ran over to meet them.

"So? What was that about?" Lena asked. Tara grinned from ear to ear.

"Sir Daniel wants to put me in the Academy," she replied. "If I do that, I'm gonna be a soldier for sure! A real soldier! And I'll be going to school with the people I'll be commanding and working for! It'll be _great_!"

"…but what did Mama and Papa say?" Astra wondered. "You know how much Mama dislikes our learning how to fight."

"Yeah, but they _know_ I want to be a soldier, and Sir Daniel suggested it, so my bet's that they're just discussing the details like when I'm gonna start and all that." Tara squeaked in happiness, hugging her twin tightly. "I'll finally get to _do something_!"

"With any luck," Lena chuckled, shaking her head. She glanced over at the younger kids, who were staring at them. "See? I told you that when Sir Daniel says there's no trouble that he's not lying."

"Wow… do you think if Tara goes to the Academy, then that means I can go to the College?" Sterling asked, his eyes wide and brows raised in hope. "The College, and then maybe on to the Royal University in the capital!"

"Hey, I wanna go too!" Oriana protested. "It's wouldn't be fair that you get to go and no one else!"

"If Ori's going, then _I'm_ going!" Maglina added.

"That's enough, the three of you," Lena commanded. "Now, let's go up and order some tea. I think that will do us all some good, don't you think?" With that, she enlisted the help of Astra to usher the youngest children up to the nursery, leaving Tara to follow in a blissful daze.

* * *

As soon as Tara exited the room a heavy silence fell over the remaining occupants. The air was tense as the minutes passed, in order to make sure the children were as far away from the conversation before it started.

"I am going to make this _perfectly clear_ ," the Marquis glowered, leaning forward in his chair. "My daughter is not going to school where they take all the rejects from the scholars' College, causing me to worry about her safety the entire day from when she leaves at breakfast until I see her again at dinner. I forbid it."

"Then I don't know what you want me to do, Johan," the tutor snapped. "I'm running out of both options and resources quicker than I can replenish them. Tara wants to be a soldier in your army; let her be one."

"I have no objections to her being a soldier, but I _do_ have objections to her being thrown into the rabble while still in her formative years. She is an _officer_ , and officers don't muck about unsupervised with influences that can steer them down the wrong path before they have the skills necessary to see the right one." The Marquis narrowed his eyes as his glare intensified. "She will _not_ attend the Academy."

"Sounding a bit elitist there, aren't you _milord_?" Turning towards the Marchioness, the tutor scoffed in frustration. "Sometimes I wonder how you ever fell in love with this man, let alone _stayed in love_ with him."

"I would say you are forgetting your place, Daniel, but you do have a point," she sighed. The Marchioness was frowning in worry, lighting drumming her fingers on her stomach. "Why can't Tara attend the Academy? Those are her future comrades after all."

"Some are from good homes and respectable families, this is true, but not all are and as soon as they figure out who Tara is she will be in an incredible amount of danger," the Marquis replied, his voice straining to stay under control as he addressed his wife. "We can't risk her safety like that."

"…then what have I been doing the past seven years? Teaching her how to curtsey and hold her tongue in a man's presence?!" The tutor was standing now, his eyes lit in irritated fury. "Pick the roughest, most thuggish lout you can find and I would bet on your daughter any day of the week, Johan! She _needs_ this!"

"I will not put _any_ of my starlets in danger if I can help it, and you know that!" The Marquis stood as well, matching the tutor snarl-for-snarl. His whiskers bristled in anger that he just barely kept contained. "If you _insist_ on integrating her then you will during the last year of her education, maybe two, but no more!"

"You aren't **_listening to me!_** " the tutor shouted, slamming his hands on the table before him. "Put her in now and she'll be at the top of her class! Keep her here until she's sixteen and she will not only be behind all her peers but eaten alive the moment she reports for her first day! I know how these places work and am only thinking about her future!"

"Would you send _your_ daughter to the Academy, Daniel?" the Marquis hissed lowly. The tutor blinked, taken aback. "Well? Would you?"

"Oriana's thirst for academic knowledge greatly outstrips any soldiering ability she might have inherited from me. Sending her to the Academy would be nothing short from a death sentence for her entire future."

"Now you can see where I stand in the matter." The two fathers locked scowls, leaving the mother in the room to groan.

"I don't need the two of you butting heads, not now and not ever," the Marchioness said as she rolled her eyes. "You can't compare Tara and Oriana—they're too different in that regard. They both are on different paths to begin with." She stood and made her way to the door. "Thank you for your advice, Daniel. We'll think about it."

"…but Clara…"

"I said ' _we'll think about it_ ', Johan," she said firmly. The Marquis flinched at her words and backed down, returning to his chair. "I hope to have an answer for you soon; we'll send Oriana home when it's time for dinner."

"I think I'll fetch her now," the tutor replied. He kissed the Marchioness on the forehead before leaving the room, allowing the couple time alone.

"He doesn't know what he is talking about," the Marquis spat, slouching in his chair. "He went through the Academy in Gloucester with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Facing danger was second-nature to him, but Tara…"

"You're not being fair," his wife replied. "Our daughter could thrive there if given the chance. What do we really have to fear by allowing her to attend the Academy? That she won't find someone in her year that can be her equal in a sparring match?"

"That she will be treated unfairly because of her position," he groused. "Her instructors would favor her for the wrong reasons, her classmates would either try to curry her favor for low intentions or dismiss her as a highborn airhead trying to kill time, and she would be a walking target for _years_. I wouldn't be able to rest easy with her suffering through that, day in and day out, as she goes through some of the most difficult years of her life."

"Think about this before you make a final decision, Johan. Think long and hard," the Marchioness said. "You know where I stand on the matter, now we just have to be in agreement." She left the room, allowing her husband to stew in his ire.

Surely it was the better idea to keep Tara's education within the castle, he thought. She was not frail or delicate in any manner, yet she still knew little of the world. It was not her job to become the sovereign ruler of the march, and there was still a sister between her and full inheritance. He wanted her to be happy, but she was still a child—happiness could be found in a career or a marriage or even both, and he didn't want to lock her out of anything due to a decision made by a man that was not her father. How many respectable people would want to wed a highborn woman that went through the Academy? The concept was a rare one, and the only women he could think of that had both an Academy education and a titled father also died alone and full of regrets.

_Regret_. Those with Ancient Gallifrey in their blood had a very long time to live through their regrets. The Marquis did not want to spend his final years with an estranged daughter who lived spending her days surviving off an unused dowry, nor did he want to force an unwanted lifestyle on her instead. His daughters were all different and Tara was the most brash and wild of the lot. He did not know if he could trust her to keep a level head if she encountered true danger without the safety net of her tutor to diffuse things, and that was what probably pained him most of all. It was near-impossible to know, with the only way to find out was to send her on her way.

The decision, he knew, was not going to be an easy one. He leaned back in his chair and scowled at the empty room—things were much easier when the children did nothing but crave their parents' attention. Now that their attention was desired less and less, it seemed as if the job of parenting was becoming increasingly difficult.

* * *

A few weeks later and the Marquis was going through his yearly rounds of the local schools, making sure things were up to standard. The rounds were being made by him alone, unfortunately, as the Marchioness was having some discomfort with their unborn child and they both decided it was safer for her to remain at the castle for the day. He had already gone through the Gallifreyan Primary, as well as the academic College Gallifrey, and now he was on the local branch of the military Academy. The students impressed their lord, showing him a standard that told him that the borders would stay well-fortified even when he passed the reins of the marquisate to his firstborn. The headmistress had just finished showing him the officers' program when they came to a stop in her office.

"Is everything in top order, milord?" she asked. He stared out the window at the training yard below, where students were performing drills for their instructors.

"Yes, it is," he replied, narrowing his eyes as he studied the goings-on outside. "It is no lie that we turn out some of the finest soldiers in the kingdom, and this school can take much of the credit. I think we can definitely find something in the budget to help update your gymnasium."

"Why thank you, milord. You are most kind," the headmistress beamed. She poured them both some tea from the spread that had been laid for them on the table. "Is there anything else I can do for you while you're here? It is nearly the end of the day, but I'm sure we can find the time to do something if our local commander requests it."

The Marquis hesitated, indecision gripping him. Should he? Shouldn't he? His brain warned him to do one thing, the rational thing, yet his gut was screaming that his brain was dead wrong. After clearing his throat he nodded, though reluctantly.

"The castle has a promising young ward, you see, and she seems keen on entering the military upon adulthood," he said. "Could you find a spot for her in the autumn enrollment for me? The castle tutor can't do much more for her, it would seem."

"Of course, milord," the headmistress said with a short bow of her head. "What is her name?"

"Tara… the same as my one daughter. It's been causing some confusion as of late."

"…and what is her surname?"

"…Smith. It's Tara Smith."

"Well, any student with the backing of the Lord Marquis has a place in the Academy as long as I'm in charge," the headmistress replied. "You can inform your ward that she is expected in class first thing in the autumn, and don't worry: I shall be discreet about her benefactor, in case anyone would get the wrong idea."

"Thank you. I'm sure she shall be delighted." A great weight seemed to lift off his shoulders as the headmistress sat down at her desk to write down Tara's name in the ledger. If he was going to regret this, with any luck it would be that he did not reveal it was his daughter they were enrolling and nothing more. "You will keep me updated on her progress, will you? Let me know if things get out of hand with her?"

"I wouldn't worry about that, milord," the headmistress said. She finished writing down Tara's name and closed the ledger. "Rarely do our students get out of hand, even those whom the College consider to be 'problem children', so I wouldn't worry." Giving him a knowing smile, she put her pen down and folded her hands over the closed book. "Your daughter will be given all the same opportunity and treatment as the other students. It is by merit and skill through which our students excel."

"Thank you. That is comforting to kno…" the Marquis began, before realizing his slip. He glanced over at the headmistress as the tips of his ears turned red. "Not a word about this to anyone, you hear?"

"Not a word about _what_ , milord?" she asked with a grin. He opened his mouth to correct her, but realized her intention and sat down in a chair.

"Precisely," he nodded. The Marquis scratched at the edge of his goatee in embarrassment and cleared his throat. "Now, about the refurbishment of your gymnasium…"


	11. The War in the Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Rough] ages in this chapter go as follows: Johan at 61, Daniel at 44, Clara at 42, Martha at 39, Lena at 11, Astra and Tara at 9, Sterling at 5, and Maglina and Oriana at 3

It had all started with one of the worst snowstorms in living Kasterborsian memory. Everything in Gallifrey had ground to a halt; even if someone had wanted to brave the cold and the snow and the whipping winds that could knock a grown man over, there wouldn't be anyone around to conduct business with. Snow dumped across the land faster than it could be cleared and prompted many a joke about how the march seemed frozen in time.

All things come to an end, however, and the snowstorm eventually subsided. The morning after the winds began to die down was sunny and blinding-bright and prompted the Marchioness Kasterborous and Gallifrey to send her husband outside with their children. The Baroness Coal-on-the-Hill, who had been home on leave when the storm hit, sent her husband and daughter out as well, deciding it would be an excellent day to relax with a nice pot of tea and a good friend. It did not matter that they had just spent the past three weeks chatting and visiting (since as soon as it was realized the storm was going to bury the cottage, the Pinks were nearly ordered to move into the castle's guest wing), as they had not been able to speak _alone_ , which was intrinsically different from being surrounded by husbands and children that forced the flavor of their conversation. While neither couple had secrets, it was still understood that one-on-one was easier than one-on-one-on-one-on-one-on-six.

…and this was how the Marquis found himself shivering in the cold alongside his children's tutor as they watched their children frolic in the freshly-fallen snow.

"Remind me why neither of us employ a governess," he grumbled, pulling his thick cloak closer around him. The breeze was slight, though it cut through his body and straight to his bones, making even the fur-lined fabric feel as thin as the most delicate gossamer curtain.

"Let's see, Martha and I don't want Oriana to be raised by a stranger and become detached from her roots, Clara has simply always adored children, and you… you're just mental," the tutor muttered, teeth chattering. They halted conversation as his daughter came over to them, jamming herself between his knees and wrapping his quilted cloak around her shivering body.

"It's too cold out here Dad," Oriana whined. "Can't we play inside where there's a fireplace and kitchens to heat everything?"

"Mum said an hour, so we're giving her an hour," he sighed. The tutor bent down and fussed over his daughter's clothes. She was decked from head to toe in thick wool, with hopes that playtime would assist in keeping her warm. "Hey, why don't you join up with the others? It looks like they're having fun."

"…but _Dad_ …" she protested. Instead of giving in, the tutor adjusted the clasp on her cape and whispered something in her ear.

"Go on," he said. "Try it."

"Okay…" the girl replied, not wholly believing what she was just told. She then turned around and ran back towards her friends.

The Marquis raised a brow in curiosity as he watched her leave. "What did you tell her, Daniel? That was like magic."

"It's not magic; I just know my daughter. Don't worry, you'll see." The tutor straightened and kept a close eye on Oriana as she approached her friends and barreled directly into an unsuspecting Sterling, knocking him over into a snowbank while she was able to stay upright and dry. "There; now wasn't that easy?"

"That was not exactly what I had in mind," the Marquis grumbled, watching as his son tried to escape the snow. The more Sterling flailed, the more snow seemed to fall on him from the surrounding bank with nothing either Oriana or his little sister could do to help him. The Marquis walked up to the snowbank and plucked the boy out, setting him down so he could brush off what hadn't already melted into his clothes.

"What did you do that for, Ori?!" Sterling sniffled. "Now I'm all wet!"

"Dad says it's what people do in the snow!" she protested. "I thought Dad was the one who taught us stuff, so that means he's right!"

"Not always, child," the Marquis glowered, trying not to project any of his irritation onto her. Oriana was an innocent pawn in this and there was no reason to potentially frighten her for what was only logical. "Your father is correct about many, many things, which is why he is the castle schoolmaster, but he does not know all things."

"…like what to do in the snow?"

"Yes, like what to do in the snow."

"Then what _do_ people do in the snow, Papa?" Maglina asked curiously. "Astra and Lena are just walking around and looking at things, and Tara is throwing snowballs at squirrels, but we don't want to do any of that."

The Marquis paused and thought. He had of course played in the snow with his first wife, Melody, both when they were children and as young adults, throwing snowballs at one another and tumbling through snowbanks until their wind-whipped faces were red as her hair and every bit of them was soaked down to their skin. Those were not exactly memories to share with the younger children just yet, but they were allowed to be privy to _some_ information.

"I had a friend growing up and her mama taught us how to properly play in the snow," he explained. It was still the truth, merely not the entirety of it. He carefully picked up a handful of snow and instructed the children to watch as he packed it into a ball. "See?"

"I don't want to throw a snowball at a squirrel," Sterling muttered. The Marquis shook his head.

"You don't throw this at _squirrels_ —I have warned Tara countless times that those creatures learn and will one day attack her so that she regrets packing a single ball—you throw this at _Sir Daniel_."

"Why my dad?" Oriana wondered.

"We throw this at your father, Little One, because he has the ability to throw one back. It's much fairer this way. Go ahead. Try it."

After taking the snowball from the Marquis's hand, Oriana walked up to the tutor, who had his back turned to examine the large icicles dripping from the eaves, and threw it at his shoulder. The Marquis cackled as the tutor jumped in surprise, looking down at his daughter in shock. He was laughing so hard, in fact, that he did not see that the tutor had packed a snowball of his own until it hit him square in the face.

"Ha! That's what you get for trying to turn my own daughter on me, Johan!" the tutor laughed. He scooped up a handful of snow and whipped it at the Marquis, dashing behind an evergreen shrub for protection. The Marquis dodged the attack easily and found a statue to use as a barricade.

"Children! Hurry up and get under cover!" he hissed at his son and daughter.

"…but Papa…" Maglina whined. Sterling glanced over at Oriana, who was also standing out in the open. She shrugged at him, and he shrugged back. He grabbed Maglina by the hand and the three met by a stone bench, where they cleared off the fallen snow and sat down to watch.

"Kids, respect your father!" the Marquis snapped, waving for his children to return. He had to duck behind the statue again as another snowball attempted to hit its mark.

"We _are_ being respectful, Papa," Sterling replied, kicking his feet as he sat. "We're not joining Sir Daniel!"

…which, of course, was not the answer the Marquis had wanted to hear.

* * *

"Isn't that Papa and Sir Daniel throwing snowballs at one another…?" Astra mused. Lena looked down from the pinecone she was examining on a tree branch and turned her attention to where her sister was pointing. Sure enough, there was their father and tutor whipping snow balls at one another while their siblings and Oriana watched on in a dazed stupor.

"I'm inheriting all of Kasterborous and Gallifrey from _that_?" she deadpanned. "How does Mama put up with him?"

"Well, it's always worse when you start looking at things deeper," Astra shrugged. A tiny chipmunk scuttled up to her and she picked it up, allowing it to rest on her shoulder. "Remember what Mama and Lady Martha told us the other day? That Sir Daniel was in love with Mama before she married Papa? There's that, plus the fact he _teaches_ us and…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Lena scoffed, rolling her eyes. "We have extremely odd parents with creepy backstories." Another voice broke her focus, with both girls snapping their heads towards the other side of the gardens, towards the topiaries. Tara was shouting in the ceremonial tongue, curses and threats and fragments of ancient spells, as she tried to dodge and outrun an onslaught of tiny fluffs of fur that seemed to be bearing down at her from any direction that was possible. Her sisters watched as she ran across the gardens in an attempt to flee, not moving a muscle in an effort to save her.

"I may only be older than her by twelve minutes, but _you're_ the one who agreed to have her be your field general when we're older," Astra smirked. The Earlessa groaned and smacked her forehead in frustration.

"Sod the hour we're supposed to be out here; I'm going to the library. You coming?"

"Did you even have to ask?" With the chipmunk put down, the two eldest sisters began to trudge back towards the castle, eventually taking pity on the younger three and dragging them along as well. They brought them to the nursery and once they were all in clothes that were warm and dry they went and ordered cocoa to have in the library as the five of them sat with their books and some blankets, fully ignoring their fathers warring in the gardens and Tara's curse of her own doing.

It was not until later, when the Marchioness and Baroness's tea was interrupted by a scratched-up Tara slinking in requesting first aid, was anything treated as being amiss. The Marchioness left her daughter to be tended by the Baroness (who was in full scolding mode) as she went to go find out where their husbands had gone that was so important that they apparently ignored their six children. She found them collapsed side-by-side in a snowbank, breathing heavily and soaked in melted snow as they verbally sniped at one another. It was then her turn to scold as she dragged both men inside by the ear, shouting angrily as she pulled them through the castle corridors. They were too exhausted from their quarrel to do much more than follow the enraged woman as she lambasted them in front of the staff, all of whom hid their snickers until the storm was out of earshot. It was widely agreed that although the snow that had flown for nearly an entire month had been dreadful, being at the receiving end of a snow-fevered Marchioness was horrid… as well as fully avoidable.


	12. Silver and Gold (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let everyone know, parts of this chapter is a bit OC-heavy, as the kids are major players. I do apologize if that's not your thing, but I do respect it.
> 
> [Rough] ages are as follows: Johan at 66, Daniel at 49, Clara at 47, Lena at 16, Astra at 14, Sterling at 10, Oriana and Maglina at 8, and Seren at 3

Running as fast as her legs could manage, Maglina bounced in and out of the various castle rooms, staying only long enough to check for a single person. Eventually she found her quarry: Sterling, who was nestled away in a corner of the library, comfortably reading a book in the afternoon sun.

"Come on Sterling, let's play," she insisted, tugging on her brother's shirtsleeve. He pulled away shyly, scooting further onto the settee.

"I'm reading," he replied.

"But we're gonna play March and we need a marquis," she pouted.

"I don't like playing marquis—it's Lena that's supposed to do that stuff, not me."

"It's Free Day, come on, play with us please! You always used to before you moved out of the nursery…"

"Maggie, I've only been out for two months…"

" _Still_!" Maglina wibbled her lower lip in a last-ditch effort to win his favor.

"O-Okay…" he said, defeated. No sooner had Sterling closed the book did his sister pull him off the cushion and drag him through the corridors. After many twists and turns and flights of stairs, they finally came to the small crack in a wall that marked a secret passageway to an even more secret room the three used as their hideout. Oriana was already there waiting, feeding the castle cat Ariel.

"Now we can play!" Maglina announced. Oriana clapped excitedly.

"Good! I made the chairs while you were getting Sterling," she said, pointing over towards where she had set up two seats made of planks of wood and empty barrels. Blankets and cushions topped them, making them look nearly like the play-thrones in the nursery. "Maggie told you we're playing March, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Sterling nodded. He looked at the makeshift chairs and frowned. "Which one is the Doctor's seat and which one's the Companion's?"

"Just pick one," Maglina said. Still clutching his book, Sterling sat down in the rightmost seat, leaving the space to his left open. He began to panic slightly when Oriana sat down next to him, smoothing out her skirts importantly.

"Wait a second, you're the marchioness?!" he asked.

"Well of _course_ ," she replied. "Maggie already said that she'd be the knight _and_ the maid, and otherwise who would be your marchioness? Ariel? He won't even sit long enough to play a baby."

Sterling squirmed uncomfortably at the thought. He watched as his sister put on her practice armor from across the room, wishing he was back in the library.

"Are you ready?" Maglina asked.

"Ready!" Oriana echoed. The make-believe knight then crossed the room, bending down on knee before her liege lord and lady.

"I have terrible news, Your Lordship," she said, affecting a rough accent from the southern beaches of the kingdom. "An auto-maton from Rhylls has landed shore and is wreaking havoc on the fishing villages up and down the coast."

"What do you plan to do about it?" the pretend marchioness asked, her back straight and voice sweet.

"To ride in and attack at dawn, Your Ladyship. I only need the Doctor's permission."

"Oh, uh, sure. Go ahead," Sterling said. The girls both glared at him and frowned.

"Come on, like you _mean_ it," Maglina grumbled.

"Fine." He cleared his throat and imitated his father's icy glare and flat tone he used in court. "If that is what you wish. Should we not hear from you by sundown tomorrow, we shall send reinforcements."

"Thank you, milord. I will not let you down." The make-believe knight then stood and went back to the other side of the room, hastily taking her armor off.

"Come, dearest. Let us go have our afternoon tea," Oriana said, still using her marchioness's tone. They stood up together and she took his hand, leading him back over to their short play table. Once they were down on the floor-cushions, Maglina rushed over to their side and curtsied.

"Tea will be ready in a moment, milady," she said. She then reached over and picked up a doll, one that had been stuffed into one of Seren's infant dresses. "Did you wish to play with the young lord before tea?"

"Why yes please." Oriana took the doll from Maglina and bounced it in her arms like a baby. She glanced over at Sterling, only to see that he was edging away uncomfortably. "Oh, come on… you said you'd play with us!"

"Yeah, but this feels weird," he muttered. Sterling looked down at the table and worried his brow. "I'm sorry Ori, but don't know if I like playing pretend anymore."

"That's just because we haven't had the chance to play in a long time," she reasoned gently. She held his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "I'm sure you'll be used to it again by the time we need to go wash up for dinner."

"Are you sur—?" Sterling began. He looked up and was cut off by Oriana pressing her lips against his in a chaste kiss. Freezing up, his face went red as she leaned back and giggled at his expression.

"I'm sure," she said. She then passed over the doll, laying it carefully on his lap and placing his hands on either end. "Now hold your heir, dearest. It's almost time for tea."

Sterling carefully took the doll and sat it upright, keeping it close to his body as Maglina put down the three tea cups filled with apple juice and a plate of biscuits the girls had nicked from the kitchen. He took a biscuit and nibbled on the corner apprehensively. Something about this felt weird, and it wasn't that his sister was sitting down at the table despite playing the maid.

After tea and the imaginary knight making another appearance (fighting the auto-maton, as played by a sleeping Ariel), the heavy toll of the clock signaled it was time for them to leave to get ready for their respective dinners.

"Oh no, I have to go put my practice gear away before Mama and Papa see me!" Maglina gasped. She rushed out of the room, raspberry jam still smeared over her face to feign blood, leaving her brother and friend to force the cat out of the room. Ariel hissed and spat and clawed at Sterling's hands, but once they were out in the hallway the animal sped off angrily.

"Ow…" Sterling muttered, sucking at one of the larger scratches. Oriana leaned forward and looked down at his hands, shaking her head.

"Mum says you shouldn't do that," she said. "She says it'll get infected."

"It's okay—I'll wash my hands," he grumbled. Sterling began to walk down the corridor, only to stop and turn around after a few steps. "Um… Ori…?"

"What is it?"

Silently, he walked back up to her and bent down, this time him kissing her. It was quick and fleeting, yet the very pinnacle of the sterile idea of intimacy only possessed by a boy moved out of the nursery early. He immediately looked away, embarrassed. "I'm not a marquis, and I don't ever want to be."

"I know, but…"

"I'll see you tomorrow for class; got to go, bye," Sterling finished quickly. He then spun on his heel and ran, leaving Oriana blushing in the hall alone. She was confused; they weren't playing anymore, so why did he need to do that? Why did he need to _say_ that?

The little girl shrugged and began to make her way down to the castle grounds; she couldn't dawdle and be late to dinner either.

* * *

"Um… Papa…? Can I ask you something?"

The Marquis looked up from his paperwork and saw his eldest son peeking around the opened study door. He was shrinking away timidly, despite the fact he had yet to receive an answer.

"Of course, come in and sit down, starlet," the Marquis said. Sterling quickly came in the door and shut it behind him before scurrying over to the table. He sat down next to his papa, who took a biscuit from the tray on the middle of the table and passed it to him. "First, you have to answer a question from me: why aren't you at your lessons?"

"I told Sir Daniel I don't feel well," the boy muttered, chewing the biscuit slowly. The Marquis raised an eyebrow.

" _Are_ you not feeling well?"

"I lied, kinda," Sterling admitted. "My stomach doesn't feel good, but only when I think about Ori, and since she's at lessons too..."

"Why Oriana?" the Marquis asked. "I know you were playing March yesterday—did she do or say something that you didn't like?" If it was a simple argument that needed quelling, then it was probably good for the boy to get it out then and now.

Sterling shook his head. "Maggie said that they needed a marquis, so I thought it was going to be me pretending to be you while they pretended to be knights, but Ori was the marchioness and… she kissed me."

"She kissed you?" It was all the Marquis could do to not bulge his eyes and allow his eyebrows to fly off his face. He saw the distraught expression his son was wearing and leaned in order to look him in the eyes. "You know, although your mama and I don't often kiss, there are many people that think nothing of it. Maybe her parents are like that, so during play she just assumed that was how all people behave."

"…but Papa…" Sterling's face turned red as the night sky. "…I liked it. I wasn't offended… I liked it."

The Marquis's heart skipped a beat as he straightened his posture and looked back down at his paperwork. _Daniel's child_. His son, not yet old enough to grow whiskers, had found his first love in his tutor's child. The soldier-turned-tutor, who had been the one to romance his wife to the point that her father needed to marry her off to avoid scandal, who found her again and courted her with his permission, whose disappearance caused the Marquis and Marchioness's relationship to grow closer and blossom into romance. The love between the tutor and the Marchioness had long altered into friendship, that was true, but now their _children_ …

"Most people like kissing—it's nothing odd," he said, attempting to brush it off. "It just means that when you do marry one day, the union will be an affectionate one."

"In the corridor, before heading to dinner, I kissed her back," Sterling confessed. "I told her that I don't want to be marquis, because, you know, that's Lena's job, but… Papa, you were betrothed when you were my age. What do I need to do to be betrothed to Ori?"

"Parents betroth their children, and I am _not_ promising you to anyone," the Marquis said sternly. Sterling shrunk back a little, to which his father gently rested a hand on his shoulder. "Many betrothals don't work out the way they were planned, and either the match does well politically and the couple is miserable, or the couple is happy though in ruin. You and your sisters and Seren will all have the freedom to choose who you marry and why, but only when you are adults."

"You and Lady Melody were happy…" the boy mumbled.

"…only because not only were we lucky, but we had been told our entire lives we were to wed. Both of my marriages were fortunate, considering how your mama and I had never met before our ceremony due to your grandpapa arranging the entire thing through letters. Don't think that just because your papa has been lucky that it means you will be lucky too."

"People aren't happy if they're mean and nasty, and Ori isn't mean or nasty," Sterling reasoned. "She's kind and smart and strong and very pretty. I know I moved out of the nursery early, but should I wait until Ori's out of the nursery before I ask for her hand, or is it okay to ask before that because she's our friend?"

"Just because you're out of the nursery does not mean you are an adult," the Marquis stated. He was breaking out into a full panicked sweat now, trying desperately to stay calm. "Besides, Sir Daniel is actually _Baron Coal-on-the-Hill_ , which means that Oriana is _Lady_ Oriana, and any proposal she gets has to be after she's of-age."

"When is that, Papa?"

"Oriana will have a coming-of-age ceremony when she is eighteen, just like your sister will, since she inherits Sir Daniel's barony. She may even be presented at court with all the other highborn daughters that don't inherit or serve in the military or were betrothed, simply because no one in her family has been so yet. You will meet dozens of other girls between now and then and she will meet dozens of other boys. I'm not saying you won't always be fond of her, because she is a sweet girl and she deserves all the fondness in the world, but there is a chance you won't always be so eager to be her intended."

"She makes me feel floppy inside, but I don't want the feeling to go away," Sterling said. "Does it have to go away?"

"Until you are both adults, yes," the Marquis replied. "If it's still there when that time has come, then so be it." He looked over at his son and nudged him slightly with his wrist. "Go get a blanket from over in the chest and wrap yourself up; there's another biscuit in it for you if you do."

Sterling did as he was told and found a large, soft quilt in a chest in the corner of the room. After draping himself in it, he sat back down and accepted the biscuit from his father, who immediately after rang the servant's bell and ordered them some tea.

"Would you like to stay here today and help me with my papers?" the Marquis asked.

"Uh-huh," Sterling nodded, mouth full of biscuit. "I'm getting better at writing my letters, so I can help you take notes."

"That sounds like an excellent plan." The Marquis passed some clean sheets of scrap papers over to his son and gave him a pencil. "Maybe we can make it a proper day and take lunch in here, how about it?"

"I'd like that. Thanks, Papa."

"You're welcome, starlet."

* * *

The Marchioness entered the schoolroom, a few minutes before the children were scheduled to cease their studies for the day. Seren clung to her skirts closely, looking around curiously at the mysterious room that seemed to eat up his siblings for nearly the entire day.

"Hello Daniel, kids," she said as she walked in. Her children all responded with a hello, with Oriana adding "Lady Clara" at the end. The woman furrowed her brow as she did a quick headcount—her eldest son was not there.

"What's the occasion?" the tutor chuckled, standing from his desk to give the Marchioness a hug.

"Oh, I just wanted to see how the kids were doing, but I see we're missing one," she replied with a frown.

"Sterling didn't feel well, Mama," Maglina explained. "He left this morning with bugs in his tummy."

" _Butterflies_ ; he said he didn't feel well so I sent him back to his room," the tutor explained when the Marchioness shot him a horrified look. "I figured he might be getting nervous about the Primary Ending Exams, since that's what he and I have been talking about recently to get him ready for next term, so it's really nothing to worry about." He then crouched down and gave Seren's wild mop of curls a ruffle. "How about you? Are you ready to start schooling?"

"Do I have to go outside for school, like Tara?" the boy asked.

"Nope; not unless you want to go outside the castle for classes."

"Then I'm staying here with Mama. I don't want to go away."

"No one is going to make you go away, I promise," the Marchioness assured her youngest. The child hugged her leg and made a small noise as he buried his face in her skirt, making her smirk happily.

It was then that a servant knocked on the open door. "Milady? Milord? I hate to disturb you both, but Lord Johan would like a word with you."

"Both?" the tutor wondered. "Did he say why?"

"No, sir, only that he wished to speak with you. Excuse me." With a bow, the servant was off, leaving the two adults to ponder.

"Lena, please take care of your brother while Sir Daniel and I talk with your papa," the Marchioness instructed. Her eldest stood from her chair and scooped the child up.

"Do you think you'll be long?" Lena asked hesitantly. "I had wanted to take a walk around the grounds before dinner."

"You'll get your walk in, don't worry," the Marchioness replied. She and the tutor then left, navigating the winding castle corridors until they came to where the Marquis was waiting in the study. His hands were folded over the desk and a scowl etched across his face.

"You two, sit," he ordered, motioning towards the other two chairs. The Marchioness and the tutor both looked at one another, confused.

"Johan, what's wrong?" the Marchioness asked. "This is your cross voice. You _never_ use your cross voice with me."

"Today I have decided to make an exception," he replied. "Have a seat." He watched as they sat down cautiously, wondering what was going on. "Sterling was with me all day today. Do either of you know why?"

"He said he wasn't feeling very well, so I sent him back to his room," the tutor explained. He fiddled with his hands, running his fingertips over metal-capped knuckles, and frowned. "He didn't get sick here, did he?"

"Oh, he is sick alright," the Marquis hissed. " _Love_ sick."

The Marchioness gasped in delight. "Oh really?! Our little boy has a crush? And he told you? On who? Tell me!" Her husband scowled and silently pointed to the tutor.

"…me?!" he asked, extremely unnerved. The Marquis ran a hand through his hair and groaned.

"Not _you_ , you bleeding pudding brain. Your _daughter_ , Oriana. My son asked me today what he needed to do to be _betrothed_ to her."

The tutor's eyes went wide as he stared back at his employer, flabbergasted. He laughed, awkwardly and high in pitch, as he tried to shake the notion.

"Your Sterling? And my Oriana?"

"I didn't say I would _arrange_ it, but I told him, in simple terms, to back down." The Marquis fiddled with some of the papers on the table in an attempt to keep his hands busy. "He wasn't feeling well today because the two of you and your love affair that refuses to die just sprung up in my eldest son."

"Oh come on Johan, you're making this sound like this is a bad thing," the Marchioness tutted. "Now we know that we adore our future in-laws, who are good people with solid standing. One's a war hero honored by the king and the other delivered our youngest daughter in the middle of a firefight, need I remind you."

"Then the two of you need to figure this out because I am not having the first engagement amongst my children be between Sterling and Oriana. I refuse."

"Why? Is there something _wrong_ with my daughter?" the tutor asked, offended. "Are you saying she's not good enough?"

"That's not what I'm saying at all, if you just keep those iron ears of yours open long enough to listen to me," the Marquis snapped, standing up and pointing at the tutor. The other man stood up as well, prompting the Marchioness to wedge her way between them.

"Boys, _stop it_ ," she demanded. "Relax and _laugh_ about this, okay? Now Daniel, your daughter is good enough for our son, no matter what anyone anywhere might say or think, do you got that?" He nodded sourly in reply. "Good. Now Johan, what _exactly_ did you tell Sterling?"

"That I am not going to betroth him to anyone, and that Oriana needs to be an adult first before a proposal, not simply out of the nursery," he growled. "She's a good girl, Daniel, and I hope she is always Sterling's friend, but if he jumps into this now then that could spell disaster for the both of them—we don't know and have to err towards caution."

"They're _kids_ , Johan. Just. Kids." The tutor backed down, though his expression did not soften. "At least I know that even if there is a boy looking after my girl, it's one I've taught and helped raise and is soft enough to the point I don't have to worry about them."

"Are you calling my children weaklings?"

"No, I'm saying your son is too kind to be a threat to my daughter's safety. If you don't want me to encourage it, then I won't, but I won't try to stop him."

"They're ten and eight," the Marchioness sighed.

"Exactly." The tutor looked at the Marquis, his expression finally having leveled out. "At ten I thought love was something found in faerie stories and heroic tales of ancient knights. What about you?"

The Marquis thought for a moment, pensive. "Something I had to grow, whether the seed was there or not, because I didn't have a choice. I was told who and what to love, when to love and how much, and I had to do it all to please my lord father."

"Then it's a good thing you both know better now," the Marchioness said. "Right, now shake hands and this does not leave the room—except to tell Martha—and we wait it out. At the end of this we will either be very good friends, or very good friends who share grandchildren, and I will not hear another ill word between the two of you about it. Understood?"

"Yes," both men agreed. They shook hands grumpily and left the room in reluctant agreement. The concept of becoming in-laws was amongst one of the last things they wanted to come to grips with, but children were exactly that: children. It was easy to write it off as Sterling's first feelings of admiration confusing the boy as he wrestled with impending puberty and adulthood, meaning that this would all be a humorous story to tell some unknown young woman and equally-unknown young man during a pair of courtships ten, fifteen, years down the line.

That's what it was, yes… a charming tale of puppy love to embarrass the two in the future. At least, it was what the men were hoping.


	13. The Duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place roughly around the previous chapter, so Johan is 66 and Lena is 16.

If there was one thing The Most Honorable Lady Lena Anthea, daughter of Johan and Clara, heiress to Kasterborous and Gallifrey, hated most, it was how out of place she felt in court life.

Court itself wasn't necessarily a _bad_ thing. If she was very honest with herself, on the silent, windless, nights where the moon hung full and amber against the blood-red sky, she could sometimes convince herself she _enjoyed_ it. Lena was very good at law and rationale and sums and crops and livestock. She knew how the marquisate worked, from the assistant pig-keepers to her parents on their governance chair. Sometimes, even her tutor had trouble finding new challenges for her when it came to stratagem and soldiering might. If that was all court life consisted of, she would have been content.

Then there were the times she loathed, where she felt clearly unwanted and out of her element. Gatherings of nobility always made her uncomfortable, and tonight was no exception. She found herself at a dinner of next-in-lines to titles old enough to be away from their governesses and mothers. The heirs sat by their predecessors—fathers, brothers, uncles, nephews, cousins, all together… except she was not only the youngest, but the only daughter as well. It was certainly a place not forbidden to her, but definitely not one deemed appropriate by most of the others in the room. Some had been cold at best before dinner and nearly all the rest pretended she didn't even exist.

"Papa, how long do I have to stay here?" she asked through a clenched smile. The Marquis pat his whiskers with his napkin, pretending to dab at some drink gone too high.

"Until His Royal Highnesses dismiss us; damn the earth it's only just started," he muttered from behind the cloth. "I know, it's _boring_ , get used to it. I had to."

"You always had an unfortunate advantage in these dinners that I never shall, Papa," Lena growled. She took a drink of wine and kept pretending that nothing was happening. They were made to turn and suddenly she found her dining partner to be a man nearly ten years her senior and slathered in hair grease.

"Lucky me, being paired with the loveliest dinner partner in the whole company," he smiled, trying his best to be friendly. "I'm Alfred, next Baron of Chatham."

"…and I'm Lady Lena, Earlessa of Gallifrey," she replied stiffly. Alfred nearly choked on his drink in laughter.

"Please, don't be so formal, not now," he insisted. "You haven't even been presented at court—don't think of me as an enemy."

"I have better things to do than be presented," she said. "Gallifreyan tradition states that in two years I shall have a coming-of-age ceremony and assume greater responsibility within the marquisate, so that I may practice for when my father retires and I take his place as the march's protector. He and Mama still have the final say until then, but it's much more practical a way to spend my days than learning how to curtsey."

"Yes, you do have strange customs in the north, don't you?" he asked curiously. "Though I didn't realize women rulers were one of them."

"Are you saying I'm not fit to rule?"

"Not at all—I barely know you, let alone well enough to pass judgement. Just… I have an elder sister, yet I'm the one sitting at this table. If I've heard correctly, you have a younger brother, correct?"

"I have _two_ younger brothers, first of all," Lena quipped. "Secondly, there are twin sisters between the eldest and me and another girl between them. Thirdly, they are ten and _three_ —neither one can do very much ruling, even if they tried."

"Apologies. I just find it curious, is all, that out of everyone here, it's the _Black Spectre of Gallifrey_ grooming his daughter to lord over his lands and knock swords with a foreign soldier every once in a while…"

"Is there something you wish to say about my father, Lord Alfred?" Lena asked, raising her voice calmly so the whole table could hear. All other conversation stopped and eyes turned to them.

"Uh… no, Lena… it's just…"

"It's just that, despite your initial friendly attitude, you find that my presence here is bothersome. The laws allowing my being here are so old that one needs to dust simply to find the hidey-hole in which the scrolls are kept… much newer than the one that permits your father to force me to talk to you and not your lady sister…"

"Johan, tell your daughter to hold her tongue," someone ordered. Lena could tell it was neither the king, nor his son, and knew her father was going to do nothing.

"I am just a maiden of sixteen—how can my father taking interest in my ability to govern ruffle everyone so?" she smirked. "Oh wait, that's it… because I won't be presented alongside your sisters and your daughters and instead stand a skirt amongst you the moment I come of age. You all wore dresses before you were breeched, so I see no reason to be so jumpy."

"Your Majesty, I take affront to this," someone down the length of the table snapped. The king looked at Lena and sighed in exasperation.

"I do not challenge your right to sit at this table, nor your right to speak, as your father made it very clear the moment you were born that you are to succeed him, but you are correct: you are a maiden of sixteen. You are still learning your place, just as many are at your age, no matter if they wear breeches or a skirt, are destined to govern or till the lands."

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, my place is here."

The king nodded, chuckling. "Well said. Ah! The soup has arrived! What perfect timing!"

The remainder of dinner passed without incidence, which only isolated Lena. Though the Marquis gave her a supportive pat on the knee, he remained turned towards the Earl of Adipose the entire meal. Alfred remained wordless and no one else engaged her in conversation until dinner was done and they were lead into the lounge to mingle afterwards.

"I don't particularly enjoy picking on girls, children especially, but how you behaved was severely disrespectful towards His Majesty as well as everyone else at the table," a young man said. He was the heir to a barony, older than her, though younger than Alfred, and towered over her despite both her heels and height that favored her father. "You leave me little choice, Lady Lena: I challenge you to a contest of strength and skill."

"Are you joking?" her father deadpanned. He sipped his malt and stared at his daughter's challenger. "If the king brushed it off…"

"Even His Royal Highness cannot call off a personal challenge amongst the heirs once it has been levied," the baronling smirked. He turned back to Lena. "The first three disciplines, choose wisely."

She thought for a moment, mulling it over. "Swordsmanship, marksmanship, and hand-to-hand combat."

"Then I choose archery and mounted combat as the tie breakers… as if it'll come to those," her challenger scoffed. He then left, the lounge going deathly quiet.

"Thank you, Papa, for bringing me here after all," Lena grumbled. The Marquis raised his eyebrows and leaned down, close enough to whisper in her ear.

"What for?"

"If I had not known them and this had been my pool of suitors, _Astra_ would be the Fifteenth Marchioness."

"Oh, we wouldn't want that, now would we?" he chuckled, taking another sip of his malt.

* * *

The following morning most of the guests of the dinner had gathered down in the courtyard, where the challenge areas had been set up. Lena stood on a wooden platform, where she was making the final adjustments on her outfit. She had to borrow a pair of breeches, but luckily she already had a shirt and pair of gloves that would suffice. Her boots still had a large chunk of heel, though she did not mind as it allowed her the extra height to come past her challenger's chin.

"You know, you can still choose a champion," Alfred said nervously. He was standing next to the platform, hidden from the shoulders down. "A couple baronets did so a few years ago and things were fine. Don't take the risk."

"Why not?" she asked plainly, adjusting her gloves before flipping her braid over her shoulder to sit against her back.

"He could _seriously hurt you_ ," he replied. "Lena, he's twice your size and you aren't even wearing the proper boots for a duel! What would the Marquis do if you were cut down because you didn't employ a champion?"

"I don't know, but I think there's a reason why _you're_ the one trying to talk me out of this and not my lord father," she said. Alfred blinked and looked over his shoulder; sure enough, the Marquis was off to the side, chatting casually with some of the older titled men who had seen their fair share of duels. He looked back, only to see that Lena had taken her place across from her opponent. The prince hopped up onto the platform, standing between the two—he was of an age with Lena's opponent, making the young lady seem all the more out of place.

"First to three hits is the winner, inflicting major injury is grounds for disqualification," he announced. "Any questions? Substitutions?"

"Not too late to summon my younger sister, now is it?" Lena snarked. The prince couldn't help but chuckle.

"We do not have the time, no. Now on my signal," he said. The prince crept back down off the platform and watched the fighters ready their stances. "Begin!"

Lena and her opponent clashed immediately, the sound of their swords echoing throughout the courtyard. A couple spins and a few taps of the blades and they both froze again, the tip of the baronling's blade pressing lightly into Lena's right cheek.

"Point!" the prince called out. The challenger flicked his wrist and lowered his sword, drawing a thin line of blood. Lena hissed, bringing her free hand to her face to wipe the wound clean.

"What, did you think that just because Papa doesn't object to you fighting that means you'll leave without a scratch?" he chortled. He and Lena began to circle one another, readying for another volley.

On the sidelines, Alfred watched uncomfortably. While it was true he did thought that Lena's father bringing her was a mistake, he also did not think it respectable to challenge a child. Had she been an insubordinate soldier fresh out of Academy that would have been one thing, but a delicately-framed heiress was another story entirely. He was so wrapped up in watching them stalk the platform that he did not notice Lena's father appear at his side.

"She's not her sister, that's true, but I can almost guarantee that she'll make the next three hits," the Marquis said blithely, leaning up against the platform boards. Alfred jumped in surprise.

"You mean that, sir?"

"Of course I do—if Tara was here she'd have the match over and done by now, but that doesn't mean that Lena's skill is exactly _pale_." He turned back to the match to watch his daughter land the flat of her blade on her opponent's thigh. "See? She can do it."

"With all due respect, that's one point."

"Just watch."

The two fighters stepped apart, staring at one another momentarily before charging again. Lena had to jump to dodge a low sweep of the sword, but was still able to touch the tip of her blade to the baronling's chest after a few extra parries.

"Point!" the prince shouted. "Next hit risks match!"

The courtyard fell still as the combatants stared one another down. Circling the platform again, the fighters attempted to predict the other's move without making one of their own. Tension became palpable while Lena and the Marquis smirked simultaneously.

She had this.

Lunging forward, Lena and her opponent both made to strike. For every blow the young man attempted, the young earlessa made an effortless parry. The baronling stumbled as he tried to make a turn, allowing her to go on the offensive. A few more hits of their swords and her opponent tripped over himself. He dropped unceremoniously on his rear and instantly found the tip of Lena's sword precisely fitted inside his right nostril.

"Uh… that is point and match," the prince stated, his astounded voice carrying well in the silence. Lena brought her sword away with a flourish, taking a nick out of her opponent's nostril in the process.

"Ow, you bitch!" he hissed. Blood dribbled from his nose as he put a hand up to try to stop the bleeding. All Lena could do was chuckle.

"Oh look, we match now," she smirked. Her opponent staggered to his feet, half in a rage and half astounded, as she sheathed her sword. "Are you ready for the shooting competition? Just to let you know, I'm an eight-year battle veteran and can pick off a Dalek at over a hundred paces… though I may be a little rusty since I haven't been in the field for a few months." She inspected the nails on her sword hand, ignoring how wide and terrified his eyes were becoming. "By the way, we might as well hammer out the rules for hand-to-hand combat now—are you well-versed in kickboxing or merely traditional grappling? I can go either way, but I'll comply with whatever works for you."

"You… you're insane!" the young man exclaimed. "You're no _girl_!"

"Did you wish mounted combat to be done sidesaddle or astride? I really have no preference… or would you rather change the challenges to needlepoint, oration, and serving tea?" Lena asked. When her opponent made no noise she chuckled before sauntering off the platform. "I thought so."

* * *

Lena Anthea, Earlessa of Gallifrey, won her first duel that day with ease, much to the surprise and horror of many of those in attendance. She was not challenged to many more after that, for most learned by the day's example and never provoked her into a contest of strength and wits as long as they could help it. Her papa was proud of her and lorded it over his fellow lords for as long as he could without drawing out their ire. If any more of their peers had thoughts as to who should inherit Kasterborous and Gallifrey from the Black Spectre himself, all they needed to do was look towards his firstborn child and pray that she be merciful.


	14. The Cadet Branch (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual Whouffaldi is to come in the second part, because once the chapter was all typed up I realized "hey this is really long twice as long as normal I should probably break it up a bit" so many apologies (though this chapter is sort of important as context for the second part).
> 
> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 64, Daniel at 47, Clara at 45, Lena at 14, Astra and Tara at 12, Sterling at 8, Maglina and Oriana at 6, and Seren at 1

The air was bustling with excitement as Castle Gallifrey was in the middle of preparations for the Marquis and Marchioness's twentieth wedding anniversary. It was sure to be a grand one in the Kasterborsian tradition; the fifth years were quiet and intimate, and the odd ones depended on the couple, but the turning of a decade was meant for hearty celebrations, no matter if they be lord or smallfolk. Servants milled about preparing for the multitude of guests that would soon be arriving and the children could not sit still.

"Sir Daniel? Can't we go watch the decorations go up in the governance hall and along the grounds?" Lena asked, her hand politely raised as she fidgeted in her seat. "I don't remember the last time Mama and Papa held an event this big."

"You don't remember because you were just barely in school then," the tutor sighed. He instructed Maglina and Oriana to continue with their reading and went over to sit next to the teenager. "I can't let you go until you're done for the day, and if I let you go I have to let everyone go."

"We can make it a field trip," Astra offered from down the table. "I think it would be interesting to watch the logistics of it all, and we don't know if we'll all be able to watch at Mama and Papa's thirtieth."

' _Shit, she has a point_ ,' the tutor grumbled silently. Ten years was a long time in any relationship and considering the fact their father was not getting any younger, despite his claims towards longevity, the children might as well see things now. Even if the Marquis _did_ survive to his thirtieth wedding anniversary, despite unseen battles and sicknesses that could affect him in the future, there would be the chance few of his students would be living at the castle at that point.

"Put down your books, team. We're going to go for a walk."

Soon the youngsters were being escorted along the castle grounds, the three younger ones whispering excitedly while the older two observed the comings and goings carefully. They were outside in the gardens, watching as a tent canopy was being rolled out for airing, when two men approached the group. One was old enough to have white hair and walk with minimal assistance from a cane while the other seemed his blond, thirty-something, echo.

"Excuse me, but where might we find the Marquis?" the younger man asked. The tutor stepped between the men and his students.

"He's not in at the moment, but if you have a complaint, I'm sure the Marchioness would be willing to hear it," he said. They looked vaguely familiar to him, and not in a good way. The older man scoffed at his answer.

"Typical, that they would constantly be fielding _complaints_ ," he derided. He examined Daniel carefully, taking in the man's metallic studding with an air of caution. "Where is this marchioness?"

"Mama isn't seeing anyone today," Maglina announced from her vantage point behind Lena's skirt. The older man scowled at her and she ducked, pulling Oriana with her.

"Please behave Grandpapa. I really don't want to be thrown out before we even get started," the younger man sighed. He looked over the kids standing behind their tutor and chuckled. "So then this is the brood—how lovely."

"Who are you?" Lena asked, furrowing her brow into one of her father's glares. She waited until Astra had the youngest two girls before she stepped up next to their tutor. "You are currently speaking with the Earlessa of Gallifrey. Whatever business you have with my lord father you can conduct either with my lady mother or me, preferably in a manner that doesn't frighten my sister and our dear friend."

"So that's who they are? That makes sense, I suppose, though I could have sworn the reports said there were more," the younger man shrugged. "I wish to speak with the man in charge."

"…and the one in charge is my lady mother, and barring her it is _me_ ," Lena insisted. "Now who do you think you are, coming here and acting so rudely within the week of my parents' wedding anniversary?"

"The rightful marquis, returned from exile," the old man said, voice sharp and dismissive. "Now take me to this _lady mother_ of yours and we'll see how long you keep this tune." The air between them was tense, neither of the strange men nor Lena wanting to back down.

"Sir Daniel," she finally said. "Please take the others and wait for further instruction. I trust your discretion."

"What about…?"

"That is an _order_."

The tutor looked from his eldest charge, her head held high and her shoulders squared, over to the men and back. While she had been giving orders since before she could string a sentence together, it was rare for her to give _him_ anything of the sort. He bowed for show and turned towards the younger kids.

"Come on, you heard her," he said. "Let's go."

"What about Lena?" Sterling asked. The tutor hushed him and began to usher the children further into the safety of the gardens. When she was sure they were gone, Lena cocked her head slightly and hardened her glare.

"If you will follow me," she said. Without a word she spun on her heel and began the walk back to the castle. The visitors kept pace, despite the elder's cane, and before long they found the Marchioness working in the study. She was on the settee, with her feet up on the cushion and her youngest nuzzled into her side sleepily, as she read over figures and did sums.

"Oh, who is this?" she asked. The look on her daughter's face caused the Marchioness to quickly put on a mask of her own as she stood, balancing Seren on her hip. "May I help you?"

"We've never met, but I'm sure you know who I am," the old man said. "I am Lord Faolan of Kasterborous, the man that should rule from the seat in the governance hall… or I would be doing so right now if my _brother_ hadn't been created in my place." He did not offer his hand and instead gestured to his junior. "This is my grandson and heir, Ulric, and we are here to finally right what was wronged nearly a century ago and give Kasterborous her rightful lord."

"Her rightful lord is my husband, and I her rightful lady," the Marchioness replied, a hint of motherly sternness in her voice. "It's a pleasure to finally meet this cadet branch people keep on mumbling about. Where have you been hiding all this time?"

"None of your concern, though it's good to know that I was not forgotten in my childhood home during my years away," the older man smirked. He saw the look of confusion on the Marchioness's face and let out a laugh. "What? Did your _lord husband_ not tell you how long we of the ancient Gallifreyan bloodlines live? Not twice as long as normal, but close enough. This means yes: I am a hundred-twenty-four years old without looking a day over seventy."

"Get out of my castle and leave my city this instant," the Marchioness commanded. The younger man chuckled.

"Why do you still claim to own something that was never yours to begin with?" he asked. "As far as we're concerned, you're squatting on and in our property."

"If you spent nearly a century away, then why choose now to come back?" Lena wondered aloud.

"Hush, girl," the old man snipped. "You'll be lucky if you become a marchioness through betrothal at this point. We recently returned from an extended trip abroad for Ulric's schooling, if you must know, and heard a little rumor that the entire time we were gone the mournful boy I was counting on getting gunned down on the front lines was busy getting remarried and fathering far too many bastard children."

"I can lock you up for treason with a remark like that," the Marchioness hissed. "Leave. Now."

"Not when I know your little secret," the older man grinned. "It took a couple years to dig up, but now I've got it, and plan to use it." He approached the Marchioness and bent down to whisper in her ear. Her eyes went wide and her nostrils flared as he spoke too quietly for Lena to hear.

"What did he say, Mama?" she asked. The Marchioness passed her youngest to her eldest while keeping her eyes trained on their visitors.

"Look very carefully at this man, Lena," she instructed. "This is a man that was once a sweet boy, but grew up jealous and with enough spite to change the course of the march's history. He seduced your great-grandpapa's bride and whisked her away before their betrothal could become marriage, which caused chaos and nearly ruined the marquisate. This is _not_ a good man."

"Neither is Johan, though I can only assume you find that up for debate."

" _Lord Kasterborous and Gallifrey_ to you." The Marchioness paused, taking a deep breath. "Lena?"

"Yes, Mama?"

"Run, you clever girl, and remember." She took the cane from the older man's hand and knocked him over, causing enough distraction for Lena to dash from the room with Seren in her arms. She turned the corner of the hallway and nearly ran over Tara, who had just arrived home for the day.

"Whoa! Why are you running?!" Tara gasped. "Are you okay?"

"No, come on!" Lena said, grabbing on to her sister's wrist. They ran back to the nursery, but were met by strangers that seemed to be waiting for them. Lena covered her brother's ears and screamed at the top of her lungs, alerting nearby servants that things were amiss. The girls dashed past the servants, using them as cover as they rushed into a cupboard, where there was a false wall that they slipped behind, plunging them into darkness.

"Ma! Ma!" Seren whimpered. Lena stroked his hair and kissed his brow, muttering whatever words she could remember in the ceremonial tongue to soothe him. By the time he calmed down, Tara had felt along the walls and found a torch, which she lit with the flint in the basket underneath the sconce.

"Okay, what's going on?" she asked. "Where is everyone and why were there strange people in the nursery?" Tara watched as Lena sank down along the wall, eyes wide and eyebrows nearly halfway up her forehead, clutching their brother tight against her chest. "Lena? Are… are you okay?"

"I will be; just give me a moment," she replied. Tara left the torch in the sconce and sat down next to her sister, knowing that this was not the time to be defiant. "An old man came pretending to be the Eleventh Marquis's brother. He and his grandson claim to be the rightful lords."

"…but, they're not. It's impossible," Tara replied. "Great-grandpapa has been dead since our papa was your age, meaning his twin can't even _hope_ of being alive. I know Papa has said that our family lives long, but _that_ long is pushing it. There's no way they have any claim even if they are telling the truth."

"Well, they seem to have brought some backup with them, if the nursery is any clue," Lena frowned. She stood back up and looked down the long, dark stairwell that laid at their feet. "Come on—we need to go find the others."

"Where are they?"

"With Sir Daniel; when we met the men, we were taking a break from our studies to watch the tents being assembled in the gardens." Lena took an exploratory step down to see how well her footing was and found the carved stone to be dry and level. "Follow with the light while I carry Seren."

"Where's Mama?" Tara asked as she grabbed the torch.

"She made me run while she distracted the pretenders," Lena explained. They descended further down the staircase, Seren pawing at his sister's dress as he kept his face in her shoulder. "I'm glad you came home when you did, or I don't know what would have happened to you."

"I'd blend in with the staff," Tara shrugged. "Someone would take me in—I mean, I'm in breeches and boots and I just came home from the Academy for the day—it's not like I look or act the part of a highborn lady."

"Both your advantage and your downfall," her older sister quipped. The staircase opened up to a large room with a high-vaulted ceiling and a waterfall going from high in the one wall and disappearing underneath the floor—a reservoir. "Even if they are from the cadet branch, there's a good chance they've been told about the passageways, so I think the first thing we do when we find Sir Daniel and the others is run."

"Where to?" Tara wracked her brain as they crossed the room and found a tunnel to walk down. "I bet they're watching _everywhere_ , and Sir Daniel escorting all seven of us is going to be noticeable."

"There's a hut on the outskirts of the city Mama showed me once," Lena said. "She told me that if we were ever in danger that we could hide there. If Sir Daniel doesn't know the way then we just hide in different places."

"I don't like this. It stinks."

"Since I think that old man threatened to betroth me to his grandson, yeah, it stinks worse than Seren's nappies. That guy had to be at least thirty."

"Less of an age gap than Mama and Papa."

"…but Mama and Papa didn't meet before she was of marrying age, nor was their marriage a threat in the middle of declaring a coup." Lena licked her lips as they began to ascend a new set of stairs. "Promise me something, Tara."

"What?"

"If I don't make it through this, protect Astra and the others with your life. You're worth at least five adults."

"Oh, you'll make it through this alright," Tara smirked. "You survive Maggie being born and you can survive anything."

"Yeah, but at least then I could tell who the Sontarians were by sight," Lena deadpanned. The stairwell then dead-ended into a wooden trap door. Lena put her ear to it and listened for movement. When she heard none, she opened it and suddenly found herself staring down the barrel of a phaser gun.

"Oh my _gods_ , you gave me such a fright," the tutor cursed. He dropped the rifle to the floor and helped the girls out of the trapdoor. They were in the cellar of his cottage on the castle grounds, where the door to the main floor was barred and the remaining four kids were wrapped up in blankets as they ate a snack of dried apples on the other side of the room. "What's going on? Where's your mum?"

"I don't know—she made me take Seren and run. Tara and I were lucky enough to bump into one another in the hallway," Lena said. She put down her brother, who immediately crawled over to where the snacks were. "Those two men want the marquisate and have the firepower to back themselves up; we have to leave and the sooner the better."

"Then I know the place—a house in the woods about half a day's ride from Gallifrey. Clara showed it to me before I started teaching you," he said. The tutor went into a chest and began to pull out some old clothes and cloaks, tossing them to the floor. "We won't move until night, but find some breeches and a shirt that fit you. If I'm taking the Marquis's daughters somewhere, we'll be spotted for sure, but if I'm taking my daughter and some boys from the castle then we might have a chance."

"I know the way, so we can split up," Lena offered, holding a shirt to her chest to judge the fit. "A man with seven children is a target, even in the middle of the night."

"Are you sure?" The tutor put his hand on her shoulder gently, making her look up at him. "We can meet outside the city walls no problem."

"No, we meet at the safe house," she replied resolutely. Lena looked over at her siblings and sized them up. "I'll take Tara, Seren, and Maggie—she's too recognizable next to Ori."

"Your mum and dad are proud of you, no matter what happens," the tutor offered. His eldest student stopped and stared at the rough cloth in her hands, wavering before choking out her answer.

"I know."

" _I'm_ proud of you."

She paused and nodded. "Thanks."


	15. The Cadet Branch (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now it's time for Part Two of Johan's Shitty Family Reunion and Why He Hates His Extended Family So Much
> 
> As a reminder, rough ages are as follows: Johan at 64, Daniel at 47, Clara at 45, Lena at 14, Astra and Tara at 12, Sterling at 8, Maglina and Oriana at 6, and Seren at 1

The Marquis held up a hand and brought his riding party to a halt. Gallifrey sat before them, only a few hours' ride, though something about the very atmosphere seemed off and he did not like the feel of it.

"Did one of you remember to bring a spyglass?" he asked.

"Yes, milord," a rider answered. He took the device from his saddlebag and extended it. "What do you want me to look for?"

"Just whatever appears out of place." The man examined the city walls and furrowed his brow.

"There are banners along the perimeter, milord," he replied hesitantly. "They don't look like the ones for your ball tomorrow night."

"What do they look like?" The Marquis's chest began to tighten as he waited for the answer. It was one word, simple yet terrible, and caused his stomach to leap into his throat.

" _Wolves_."

"Then we must hurry," the Marquis answered. They rode their horses as hard as they could push them, cutting their travel time by an hour. When they arrived in the city they found it threadbare, with only a few citizens milling about. Instead of disturbing them the Marquis rode directly to the castle to be greeted by a group of unfamiliar soldiers in the stables.

After being escorted through his own home, the Marquis came upon the sight he had been dreading his entire time as lord of his lands: a vaguely familiar man was sitting in his chair in the governance hall, old and decrepit and smug. His younger self sat off to the side, just as arrogant and pompous, and the hall seemed as if it had been only half-decorated before the anniversary ball had been called off.

"Pity we have to meet like this, Johan," the old man said. "From the way things were going, I had been hoping to meet at your funeral, but instead you decided to throw seven little wrenches into my plans."

"Now I can finally put a face to the name without looking at my grandpapa's portrait, _Faolan_ ," the Marquis spat. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Taking back what is rightfully mine—I _was_ born first, after all."

"Even if you were, you were exiled from the marquisate for your crimes…"

"Petty squabbles of decades past," the old man scoffed. "I'm more interested in what you've been up to in my absence. Those brats of yours; I don't think I've met a more terrified and weepy bunch. No will to them without their stern-faced papa to back them up."

The Marquis snorted in response. "That's a lie. If you knew my children half as well as I do then you'd know that they're anywhere but in your custody. Even if they were, I did not raise cowards." He paused, glancing around the room. His advisors and servants were everywhere, unable to assist him without risking their lives, silently awaiting the outcome. "What is it that you want? Money? A position?"

" _Your_ position," Faolan said. "I was thinking, to make things a bit easier for the people, we could engage my grandson Ulric here with your daughter, just so that it doesn't look like I'm completely forcing your bloodline out of the way. She did seem like a little bit of a firebrand when we met her, but a marriage will tame her spirit soon enough."

"She's _fourteen_."

"A long engagement never killed anyone, and it will give her time to adjust to her new role." Faolan chuckled and leaned back in the chair. "I thought someone warned you that it's bad luck to name a woman your heir."

"No such thing," the Marquis jeered.

"Then Papa's cousin Dorothea should have had a long and prosperous reign, admit it." A sly grin crept across Faolan's face. "Then again, you were about to hand over the marquisate to a girl from Blackpoole before you fell in love with her."

"You leave my wife out of this; many arranged marriages take a while to come around and you know it," the Marquis hissed. "At least my bride is a beauty that has never faded, both in her outward appearance and internal mannerisms. I am glad to have married her, humbled to have fallen in love with her, and proud to have fathered her children. She is my dearest friend and, despite not being of Kasterborous, is twice the Doctor you can ever dream of becoming."

Faolan rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. Out of a side wing, a soldier shepherded the Marchioness into view. She was bound at the wrists and visibly shaken, though otherwise unharmed.

"Johan!" she shouted as soon as she saw her husband.

"Clara!" He tried to run to her, but the soldiers on either side of him lowered their pikes and blocked his way. The Marquis watched helplessly as his wife was seated on the floor of the dais next to Faolan's feet. "Clara, are you hurt?!"

"Physically, no," she responded, keeping her composure as the toe of Faolan's boot traveled up her arm. "I am relieved to see you again. The children escaped days ago—my bet is they're out of Kasterborous by now."

"They are as resourceful as their mama, so I have no doubts." The Marquis then switched over to the ceremonial tongue, narrowing their potential audience drastically. " _My fairest wife, she who enriches my days and excites my nights, I long for when we are reunited, so that you may have me in all your sultry ways_."

" _To make you quiver in pleasure is currently my greatest desire_ ," the Marchioness replied. Her Old Gallifreyan was halting and thickly accented, though it was still enough to make her captor squirm in discomfort.

"You two are _disgusting_ ," he gagged, using the common tongue. He propped his feet up on the Marchioness's shoulder and groaned. "Now let's cut the sap and get down to business. I, Lord Faolan Yancy, Son of Lord Johan Claud, Tenth Marquis and Ninth Doctor of Kasterborous and Gallifrey, declare myself the rightful lord of the marquisate and you, Johan Lonan the Pretender, be thrown into the dungeon, where you and your… _wife_ shall remain for the end of your days."

"On what grounds?" the Marquis snapped. "I do not please everyone, but I have tried to be a just and lawful man. I make mistakes, just as anyone, though I doubt any of them have been cause for my forceful resignation."

Faolan pulled a folded piece of parchment from his jacket pocket and opened it up, reading the contents aloud. " _'In the event a marriage goes unconsummated the night of the vows, the union has a year to rectify this slight or else the bond is considered null and void. Special permission to extend this period is given in times of war and when one or both halves of the couple are younger than traditional marrying age…'_ " He cleared his throat and put the parchment back. "Well, considering neither of you were underage and there hasn't been a war to keep you apart, I would consider this to be grounds enough."

The Marquis's face fell in shock, eyes widening and his lips parting. "What are you implying?"

"The highest-ranked wedding guest may look for blood, but the maids are the ones that scrub the sheets. I have confessions that prove that your marriage is a farce and your whelps bastard-born. The very fact that you were ready to place illegitimately-begotten issue on this seat is reason enough to depose you."

A fire lit behind the Marquis's eyes and his whiskers bristled in anger. "You _dare_ say such low things about my _children_?!" he bellowed, brow furrowing in anger. "They are no less legitimate than any other heir the marquisate has had! My eldest daughter's claim to that chair is stronger than yours has been in a hundred years!"

"Not by the way I see it—frankly, you should be _honored_ I'm willing to marry a pretender's bastard to my heir. To give the babes at her breast all the things she and her siblings were promised through falsehoods? I'm the epitome of grace and goodwill."

"You're nothing but a _vile_ piece of trash! Remove your boots from my wife, your arse from our chair, and your presence from our march! I will not _stand_ for these accusations against my children, all of whom have done nothing wrong aside from childhood mishaps!" The Marquis bared his teeth in his rage, spit flying as he spoke. "Vows were said and the marriage legitimized within the night! There is nothing ill-begotten about _any_ of my children! Lena _will_ succeed me, and she _will_ have a husband of her choosing, and you _both_ will go back to whatever vapid den you slunk out of!"

"You no longer have any power here," Faolan smirked. "Be lucky I don't turn the armies away from the front and have them descend upon Blackpoole and Coal-on-the-Hill looking for your little bastards. That is where they would go, correct? Back to their frail Grandpapa or hide out in their upstart tutor's gift of a barony…"

"Both men being ones far more worthy of that chair than you," the Marquis hissed, lowering his voice. "Vacate this castle at _once_." The man in the chair grinned.

"I'd like to see you try," he said. "My grounding is solid—I have military might and the law behind me. What do you have?"

The Marquis stood there, growling as he narrowed his glare. A dour air settled over the governance hall. No one moved, not soldier nor serdar, and the tension grew with each passing moment. ' _Faolan has no right_ ,' he thought. ' _My children are legitimate, no matter what he thinks. For all anyone knows, these confessions he touts are forged; I need to come up with something, and quickly._ '

"I have the testimonies of my grandfather Johan Alvis and his trusted friend and servant Wilfred Motte, written in history and the court records of not only Kasterborous and Gallifrey, but in the Royal Court in the capital as well." He fluffed out his cape in an attempt to seem more intimidating. "Any of those accounts will prove your incompetence."

"History is written by the victors, and for the past hundred years the wrong history has ruled from this seat," Faolan scoffed. He scratched the appalled Marchioness's cheek with his boot toe, smugly staring his great-nephew down. "The only incompetent one here is you."

"…me?" the Marquis asked. "I'm not the one who was _caught_ attempting a coup… _twice_ at this point!"

"It's not a coup when it involves putting the right man on the governance chair," Ulric replied.

" _Kidnapping_ sounds a lot like part of a coup to me," the Marquis said. He spun on his heel and addressed the crowd around him. "Is that the sort of person you want at the helm of the marquisate? A kidnapper? Do you really want a man who kidnapped his brother and took his place not only on the wedding platform, but before the King holding the marquis's coronet as well?!"

"Only because I was righting a wrong!" Faolan took his feet off of the Marchioness's shoulder and white-knuckled the arms of the chair. "I was taking my rightful place!"

"Via _fratricide_! He lusted after the title so intensely that he was willing to kill his own brother! Had it not been for a lucky servant stumbling on my grandfather, I would not be here! Faolan was spared the axe and noose despite the fact he was willing to burn the very man that sent him into exile from the inside-out!" The Marquis swept around the room, his cloak billowing out behind him as he walked. "Is that really the man you want to follow?! If he was willing to murder his way to the top, what's keeping him from lying his way there with false confessions? What will prevent him from lying to you about his stand on policies? Mismanaging the march? Holding the taxes hostage in his coffer? I've been your Doctor for over forty years! Am I really so terrible that I should be replaced with this rabid wolf?!"

The governance hall fell deathly silent as the Marquis ended his speech. He turned back to Faolan, glare still at full-strength. "Who out there will pledge their metal, brains, and blood to mine? Well?!"

"Ha! As if that is going to happen!" Faolan laughed. He stood and marched down to face his nephew nearly nose-to-nose. "Guards! Arrest this man and bring him _and his whore_ to the dungeons!" No one moved, not even the soldiers. "You heard me! _Arrest them!_ "

The clatter of wood and metal on the marble floor rang out throughout the governance hall. Faolan quickly scanned the room, finding that his soldiers had all dropped their spears and swords. He looked back at his grandson in a panic.

"I think you know what to do," the Marquis said calmly, his voice low and resolute. The two soldiers flanking him, the very ones who had prevented him from rushing to his wife's side, each took one of Faolan's arms and escorted him out of the room. Two more soldiers led out Ulrich, who was muttering sourly as he walked along. Once the two usurpers were out of the hall the Marquis rushed to the Marchioness and helped her to her feet, drawing her close, hands on her cheeks, to kiss her passionately despite the crowd of people still in the room.

"Johan, I have never been so terrified in all my life," the Marchioness admitted as they parted. Silent tears were streaming down both their faces as they took in the sight of one another. "I feared for you, the children, the march… that man was going to take everything from us."

"As long as you and the children are safe, I don't care if I'm a marquis or a street peddler," he murmured. He lightly touched her face and tamed her stray hair, his fingers deft and gentle. They kissed again, holding each other as they only dared before in the privacy of the Marchioness's bedchambers. Once their relief was satiated, they turned towards the rest of the hall, holding hands and smiling thankfully towards their slightly stunned subjects.

"The line of Faolan Yancy and Rosalie Tyra is no more!" she announced. "We shall petition the king for their branch's full exile, so that the family down to Ulric and his issue may never set foot inside the kingdom again. You have made the right choice, and for that you have the gratitude of both your Doctors."

That night there was cause for celebration as the rule of the march had been solidified. The Marquis and Marchioness were reunited with their children as well; their daughters' braids had all been shorn at the nape and their tutor had kept all six of his charges and his own daughter carefully hidden until the messenger was sent for them. Unknown to all others, the ruling family slept in the same bed that night—eight in a mess of limbs and hugs and a lack of caring about propriety. Nothing was going to tear them apart like that again, not if any of them could help it.

Never again did the Marquis's cousins set foot inside Kasterborous, and soon they were banished from the kingdom as well, forced to live overseas to find their fortunes elsewhere. The legacy of Faolan Yancy, twin of Johan Alvis, Tenth Doctor of Kasterborous and Gallifrey, remained as it always had been: unneeded and unnecessary to the survival of the marquisate.


	16. The Common Anniversary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 69, Clara at 50, Lena at 19, Astra and Tara at 17, Sterling at 13, Maglina at 11, and Seren at 6.

"Alright, now _listen to Lena and Astra while we're gone_ ," the Marchioness gently ordered, leaning down to kiss Seren on the forehead. All the family was gathered in the stables, before the dawn, with the parents dressed in common clothes and the children crowded around to wish them goodbye. The youngest of them pouted grumpily, furrowing the thick brows he inherited from his father.

"…but I want to go too!" he whined sleepily. "Mama, you're not going to the front, so why can't I go with you?"

"…because sometimes even mamas and papas need some time alone with no children around, as much as they may love them," the Marquis explained. He ruffled his youngest son's hair and gave him a smile. "You're the one who has to make sure the older ones behave, you know that, right?"

"Okay, Papa! You can count on me!" Seren said. He grit his face in determination, not about to let his father down. His older siblings all hid their laughter—any sort of ploy to get their brother to behave.

"Are you sure you'll be fine if we leave you in charge?" the Marquis asked Lena quietly. "You _know_ it's not that I don't trust you, but you know how I worry…"

"We'll be _fine_ , Papa," Lena smirked. She kissed his cheek and pushed him closer towards the saddled horse that awaited him. "If Astra and I can't handle a week without the two of you, then we might as well start scrubbing the floors alongside the maids. Go on."

"She's right, Johan. Let's go," the Marchioness chuckled. She had her husband help her up onto the saddle—a double-seater so she could ride the large draft horse side-saddle in the back while he rode astride and tend to the reins—and grabbed hold of his midsection once he was on the horse himself. "See you kids in a week!"

"Bye Mama! Bye Papa!" came the chorus of children as the Marquis urged the horse forward and they left the stables. Before long the Marquis and Marchioness were riding through the waking Gallifreyan streets. The city was quiet and peaceful, the sort of serenity that came with a content people and an understanding pair of rulers.

As the sun peeked over the wooded horizon, the couple had going through the main gate to the city and were on the road westward. They rode on throughout the day, passing through tiny towns and taking breaks along babbling streams. Dinner was much the same as lunch, bread and cheese and wine from a skin, and they slept cuddling under the stars. The next morning involved a lie-in and another humble meal, ending as they prepared to head back on the road again.

"This is so nice," the Marchioness said as she rested against her husband's back. She had spent the entire time riding clung to him, holding herself steady over the worn, uneven path. "No children, no entourage, no work… just _us_."

"It will be one of our better anniversaries, I should believe," the Marquis chuckled. He scratched at his goatee in thought as they went along. "Remind me when we get home to put this road higher on the list of the ones that need to be gone over by the workmen."

"No being a lord, Johan, you _promised_ ," she huffed. "We're going to be just a normal, average married couple passing through, seeing the countryside, a part of the kingdom we haven't been through in _years_ and acting no one's liege lord or lady. Stress-free, remember?"

"Yes, dearest, I do remember," he replied, touching one hand to the pair clasped in front of his stomach. "Seeing the countryside without having a schedule to keep is going to be relaxing, that's for certain."

Continuing on, the Marquis and Marchioness came to rest in a village nestled in the rolling hills, surrounded by sheep and wheat and plenty of wide-open spaces. It was midday when they stopped, meaning the entire community was bustling with the day's routine.

"Let's have lunch here," the Marquis suggested as he helped his wife down from the horse. "The local ale is supposed to be extraordinary from what I remember Grandpapa telling me."

"That sounds like a plan," she agreed. After tying up their horse near a trough, they entered the local pub and ordered their food and drinks. They chatted about regular things—the scenery, how they felt the children were coming along in their education, everything they wanted to see—whilst holding hands and giving one another suggestive looks across the table. When their food finally came, the waitress chuckled at them as she put the plates down before them.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say the two of you were eloping," she smirked. The Marquis blushed furiously into his drink, but the Marchioness joined in on the laughter.

"We're both a little grey for something as exciting as _eloping_ , wouldn't you agree Johan?"

"For you, my dear, I'd elope every week like clockwork," he admitted. "Though, I think the children would be sick of us after a month and go to live with your father."

"Them's kids for you," the waitress said. She left them alone, only for the Marquis to lean forward and lower his voice.

" _Please_ don't call me 'Johan' while we're out," he requested. "We're supposed to be _incognito_ , not announcing to everyone we're coming through."

"We'll be _fine_ ," she sighed. "There are plenty of men named Johan in Kasterborous in imitation of the Doctors, and chances are at least a couple would be celebrating a wedding around this time… weddings that had been planned for much longer than ours was."

"Still, we need to be careful—you and I both love the people, but sometimes that love goes unrequited and you fully know that." He took a bite of his lunch and grinned happily, his mood changed. "Now this is some hearty food. We eat this and we won't need to stop for another two days."

"That's because it's meant for farmers, not city-dwellers," the Marchioness laughed behind her hand. Her laughter changed to surprise, however, when the waitress returned with two individually-sized fruit pies, setting them down on the table. "Oh! I'm sorry, but we didn't order these…"

"It's on the house," the waitress said. "Getting away from the kids is a grand occasion in of itself; congratulations Johan and…?"

The Marchioness went blank for a split second, formulating a cover story almost immediately with the first name that came to her mind. "Melody."

"Aw, now isn't that sweet," the waitress exhaled dreamily. "Like our poor marquis and his first wife… though I guess you get that a lot."

" _Loads_ , but I don't mind. We were a bit hesitant about a relationship at first because of it, but now we're glad we never let what happened in the past dictate how we handle ourselves today."

"Well, good on the two of you—a happy marriage with children and a sustained spark is hard to come by. I'm glad at least one Johan and Melody were able to make do." Another patron then called her over and she excused herself.

" _'Melody'_ …?!" the Marquis growled, trying not to sound like he was going insane. "What possessed you to go with Melody?!"

"I don't know why, but it was the first name I could think of that wasn't one of the children's," she hissed back. "It's _your fault_ for insisting on being secretive about this and making me panic!"

"…and _I_ wasn't the one who caused the need for an alias by using a given name in the first place," he reminded her. The Marchioness pouted as her husband returned to his food, giving her a look that said he knew that they both knew he was the one who was right.

They both let the matter go for the time being and continued eating, finishing every last bite including the pies, before a roll of thunder made them both pause and look at one another with worry. A moment later and the sky opened up, rain coming down in torrents. The Marquis rushed outside and brought in their saddlebags, making it so that their things were only slightly wet.

"The sky was perfectly clear when we came inside for lunch—I don't understand," he huffed, trying to catch his breath. "What happened?"

"That's just a storm off of the ocean," one of the locals explained. He chuckled at the Marquis's boggled face and elaborated with, "Sometimes storms make landfall off the sea that are so powerful, they go and barrel right through the costal lands and don't slow down until they reach us."

"I've lived in Kasterborous all my life; I know about the odd sea storms," the Marquis replied. "I didn't think this was the season for them."

"You're right, it's not, but sometimes the odd sea storm makes landfall at odd times. It should clear up by late tonight, so if you're going anywhere in particular it won't be that bad a delay.

"We're not in a hurry by any means, but thank you." The Marquis went back to the booth where his wife was and sank into his side. "It won't stop until after nightfall."

"I guess we're staying the night, then," the Marchioness sighed. She caught the waitress's attention, bringing her over. "Do you have any rooms upstairs to let?"

"We do, but the beds are a bit small…"

"That's fine; we'll take one," she said.

"Then you can have number twelve, when you're ready. The key's inside the room and I'll have one of the lads bring your horse to the stables."

"Thanks." She then turned to her husband and gave him a kind look. "Since there's not much to do, why don't we go have a lie-down? It'll be good to have a bed after a day and a half on the road."

"I don't know what I'd do without you," the Marquis said. They went up the stairs and found their room. It was sparse, with a small table, chair, and nightstand joining the bed. A mirror hung on the wall and the window was open, letting in the cool breeze from outside. Rain hit the metal eaves, making a sharp pitter-patter sound, and the tree just outside rustled gently. Once the saddlebags were placed on the table, the Marquis immediately laid in the bed, curling up so that he could fit the short mattress better. The Marchioness set herself so she contoured along his back, holding her husband as the rain lulled them close to sleep.

"The staff is nice, the bed is soft, the bugs are minimal, and the food was good; I'd say this is the least awful a detour could go," she muttered into his hair. "If this place had more to do, then I'd say we should just stay here until we need to go back home."

Rolling over, the Marquis tucked his head beneath his wife's chin and nuzzled her shoulder with his whiskers. "Promise me you won't do that again?"

"Won't do what again?"

"Use her name as your own. I put her death behind me a long time ago, so _talking_ about her isn't an issue, but _claiming_ to be her…"

"I didn't _claim_ to be anyone," she retorted. "All I did was use her name, and that was because I was thinking on the spot. I'm sorry, but it just happened."

"Please don't pretend you're her," he murmured, wrapping his arms around the Marchioness tightly. "The past twenty-five years of my life have belonged to _you_ , even before either of us knew what was happening. They have been yours and no one else's."

"…and there are few honors greater in this world than being your wife," she replied, stroking his back.

"Oh?" He grinned against her skin, knowing he caught her. "There are greater honors?"

"Of course," she giggled. "Being your Doctor, for starters; mothering each and every one of our children, for another…"

"Okay, okay, I get your point," he chuckled. He pressed a kiss to her breast, right above her heart, and hummed contently. "The moon in my sky, lovely as she begins to put silver in her hair to match my own, the mother of my stars and ultimate source of the light in my night, I am yours because of _you_ , first and foremost. I would have long ago been killed in recklessness on the border if it weren't for the thought of losing precious time with you."

"Hush now," she whispered. "There will be plenty of time for reminiscing on how foolish we've been when there are grandchildren on our laps and the governance chair is Lena's domain." She placed her nose in his hair and sighed happily, drifting closer to sleep. "That time is not that far off anymore, you know that, right?"

"I do, and I look forward to it with each passing day." He paused in thought before groaning into his wife's chest. "Can't we just skip straight to grandstarlets?"

The Marchioness laughed at that. "What do you mean ' _skip straight to grandstarlets_ '? We need to have at least one wedding before that happens, likely Lena's, and before _that_ there needs to be at least _a_ courtship, since she doesn't seem like the sort to have a political marriage…"

"Precisely; I don't want my hair to turn white just yet," he mumbled, already half asleep. He wrapped his legs around her own and pulled her in close. His Doctor, his Marchioness, his savior... his wife.


	17. When Duty Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, super-rewind! We're going back to when Lena was two and the twins newborns.

The announcement of the Marchioness’s second pregnancy was a well-received one across the March of Kasterborous, causing many a pub to raise the expectant couple a toast. It was security for the Marquis’s bloodline, confirming that the marquisate would sit in the correct hands for a while longer, and giving the people confidence in their liege lord again. Some even gave one another bemused glances as they clinked ale mugs—the Marchioness was expecting _twins_. It was common knowledge throughout the foothills and the glens that twins were only begot from an exceptional night between a man and a woman. The Doctors that ruled over them were an exceptional pair, and it only seemed right they reflected that with their issue.

Months passed and the Marchioness gave birth. The young Earlessa of Gallifrey was now an older sister to two heirs of her own and toasts were made once again. To have three children under the age of three was a mighty task for those unable to afford the luxury of a governess and nanny, but for those who _could_ afford such help and eschewed it… well…

The Marquis and Marchioness were not popular with their people by being conventional.

Things were very much how the parents expected them to be at first: feedings at all hours, day and night, accompanied by lullabies in Ancient Gallifreyan. Nappies and cots and baby-dresses dominated their bedchamber as well as the nursery, turning the rooms into one flowing mess of family. The Earlessa tried sharing toys with her new sisters, wondering how come they were not as interested in her dolls and plushes as she was, and attempted to read her picture books to them. She could not read a word herself, let alone form most of them properly, yet she attempted anyhow. The sisters were already growing close, which was what made their parents sigh in relief most of all.

One day, when the twins were in their fifth month, it finally all came together and crashed down on the Marquis and Marchioness. They had put the girls down for their nap, all three complying without fuss, and they returned to their bedchamber to find everything was silent.

“Do you hear that?” the Marchioness sighed as she leaned against the nursery door. The Marquis was on the other side of the room already, pouring some tea from the tray that had been left for them while tending to their daughters.

“No, what is it?” he wondered.

“ _Quiet_ ,” she clarified. Walking across the room, she sank down on the couch and beckoned her husband to join her. He did, winding an arm around her to rest a hand on her hip and keep her close. “I don’t know if we’ve had pure quiet for months.”

“Now that the twins are beginning to sleep through the night, we can start getting proper rest ourselves,” he added.

“Rest? Oh, you _are_ a simpleton, aren’t you?” she teased, twisting one side of his whiskers affectionately. “I don’t know why you’ve been worrying about being in good enough health to be a father—your Gallifreyan blood has kept you more than capable.” She shifted into his lap and draped her arms over his shoulders as he leaned backwards along the cushions and wrapped them up within his cape. “Three children and _I’m_ the one who feels ragged.”

“You have a lot more to do with the physical creation and nourishment of our stars than I do,” he reminded her. “Could you imagine if Lena was still feeding from you?”

“Don’t make me tired before we even start,” she laughed. The Marchioness leaned over her husband and kissed him, nearly melting as she recalled how good the action felt. “Keep this up and we might have four children under the age of four.”

“No, we should wait a while,” the Marquis murmured against her lips. “Bad enough I cannot hold three at once, but the fourth needs time in Papa’s arms as well, and that will never happen with three elder sisters fighting for my lap.”

“Only _my_ simpleton,” she chuckled. Grasping at his hair, she continued kissing him, reminding them of the hunger they had put aside in favor of tending to their children. They were nearly ready to move to their bed when the nursery door opened and a sleepy Lena came shuffling in, dousing her parents in a cold dose of reality.

“Mama, Papa, bad dream,” she said, rubbing her eye with one fist and dragging a toy lion by the tail with the other. “Sleep with you?”

“Of course, starlet,” the Marquis said in defeat. He waited until his wife rolled off him to remove himself from the settee and scoop their eldest off the floor. Carrying her to the bed, he set her down and let her crawl across the blankets to curl into her mother, who had just laid down herself.

“You don’t want to give up naps with Mama and Papa, do you?” the Marchioness asked. She settled in with her husband laying down in her arms, their daughter between them, and hummed contently.

“No. Lena like Mama Papa naps,” the girl replied, snuggling into her mother’s breast. With her chest to her mother’s and her back to her father’s, she made a happy noise and hugged her stuffed lion as she went to sleep.

“What will we do when Astra and Tara are old enough to want to join in on Mama and Papa naps?” the Marchioness whispered across the pillow.

“Let them,” her husband said. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, leaving delicate kisses along her fingers, palm, and wrist. “As long as I can see the path I traverse upon at night, I’m happy.”

“You are something else,” she giggled. She pressed a kiss into his fluff of hair and closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax. It was then that one of the twins began to cry, disrupting the silence. “No…”

“I’ve got her,” the Marquis promised. He rolled out of bed and after leaving a kiss on both Lena and the Marchioness’s hair, he disappeared into the next room, from which soon came the soothing sound of a lullaby in Old Gallifreyan that helped all his family drift into sleep.

* * *

The following day, both the Marquis and Marchioness decided that they were going to attend court. Lena held onto her father’s cape obediently as they walked along the corridors, Astra in their father’s arms and Tara in their mother’s. The family all settled down in the governance chair, with the earlessa at her parents’ feet while she played with a doll. It was a situation that seemed rather unusual to the serdars and other lesser lords, though the fact that the Marquis had finally produced children after being without love or heirs for decades made it something they let slide when it came to proper protocol.

The majority of court was general tedium; permission for buildings, zoning proposals, petty arguments, and the like. Towards lunchtime, however, a messenger came in with an urgent matter.

“Milord, Milady, there is an issue at the Daleki border,” she said. “We require your leadership, as it seems the trenches that were dug after the Dalek Wars had been filled in remote spots without our knowledge. The troops are being flanked.”

“ _Dah-lick_?” Lena wondered. She glanced up at her parents, who had both gone white as sheets. “What Dah-lick?”

“An enemy, starlet,” the Marquis explained, a stone dropping in his gut. After being able to manage the troops from afar for close to a year at that point, he knew it had only been a matter of time before he’d have to leave again. He picked up daughter and doll and stood. “Court is now closed for the remainder of the morning. The Lady Clara shall continue after the lunch hour, should she see it fit. For now, battle preparations need to be arranged.”

The entire court began buzzing with excitement and worry as their liege lord and lady carried their children out of the room. Only one person followed them—the one who looked the most terrifying with his ashen, metal-studded skin.

“Milord, do you need me to ride with you?” Sir Daniel asked. They turned into a corridor and the Marquis spun around to look the younger man face-to-face.

“First off: I am _Johan_. You’ve done too much for me and my family to consider me nothing more than a liege lord. It’s okay to not be your Doctor and Marquis anymore,” he insisted. “Second, I need you to stay here.”

“Papa okay?” Lena asked. Her father passed her to the other man, leaving a kiss upon her brow.

“No, starlet; there are Daleks in our lands,” he said. “Mama is staying here because your sisters are still nursing, and Sir Daniel is staying here to help her with you children and the march. He will stay across the hall, instead of his cottage, and will be there in case anything bad happens.”

The Marchioness took Astra in her free arm and reached back into her mind for the proper words in the ceremonial tongue. “ _Do I follow you?_ ”

“ _No_ ,” he replied, the word ancient and filled with magic. “ _Best case is I stop this before anything major happens. In the worst_ …” He glanced at Lena, then at the twins, a sad frown upon his face. “ _Have Daniel take the children to your father on his way to the capital to alert His Royal Highness. Gather the troops and lead the charge, dearest Doctor_.”

“ _I understand_ ,” Sir Daniel added, fumbling over the syllables. He then switched over to the common tongue, chuckling at himself. “You talk too fast.”

“Get used to it, Daniel, if you want to keep one step ahead of the children,” the Marquis said, patting the soldier’s shoulder. He gave Lena another kiss and allowed her to hug his face, placed his hands on the twins’ hair affectionately, and then leaned down to press his lips against his wife’s. Lingering, he murmured against her, “I will make them fear not only me, but the wrath of my moon and stars.”

“Go get’em,” she smirked. He returned the smile and went off, cape billowing behind him.

“Why Papa leave?” Lena wondered. She held on to one of the studs fitted into Sir Daniel’s cheekbones as he looked at her.

“Your papa has many things to do,” he said gently. “Don’t worry though—he’ll be back soon enough.”

“Yes, Papa back soon,” she echoed, burying her face in his shoulder. “Papa soon.”

“There now, it’s alright,” Sir Daniel said, rubbing her back. He could tell that she was picking up on their worry, and that it would begin to affect her before too long. “How’s about we head on over to the nursery? We can have lunch and afterwards play some games while your mama wraps up court for the day. I know you like to play auto-maton.”

Lena whimpered, nodding in reluctant agreement. She wanted Papa, but Papa had to leave like before her sisters were born. It wasn’t bad having Sir Daniel playing with her, since he was very nice, but she had been having such fun with Papa around for so long that the thought of him leaving again made her sad. She clung to her parents’ friend, her future tutor, and squeezed the doll in her arms tightly. While the adults _said_ everything was going to be fine, she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it, recognizing the ceremonial tongue as the tongue of secrets and hiding things. Bad things often happened when her parents spoke in Old Gallifreyan, that much she knew.

* * *

Weeks passed, on the verge of becoming months, and the Marquis did eventually return, beaten up and looking rather worse for wear. He arrived during the red of night, when the girls were down and his wife was talking with their friend over some tea. The three were very happy and although the rulers of the march had the opportunity to lay with one another, they decided to wait until the following night and merely take pleasure in the fact that they were in the same bed once again. When they woke, their eldest daughter was bouncing on the bed excitedly, glad that her father had returned home. The Daleki forces had been contained and now the family could be whole again.

Their joy was short-lived, however, for that morning another messenger came, saying that this time the skirmish was along the border with Cybera, taking advantage of the recent scuffle on the other front to beat on exhausted Kasterborsians. Sir Daniel did not move out of the bedroom across the hall and back to his cottage as planned, for this time it was the Marchioness that left to butt heads with enemy soldiers. She instructed the men on how to deal with the twins as they were being suddenly weaned onto cow’s milk, kissed her eldest on the brow, and went off to the front lines for the first time in over a year.

The two men did their best, with the twins crying well into the night and Lena on the verge of tears by day. It was all they could do to keep the girls dry-eyed and properly fed. A maid who had been nursing her own son until recently offered to help, but they politely turned her down, else risk the ire and irritation of the Marchioness upon her return home. They stuck to their orders and juggled caring for the infants and toddler with increasing ease as time went on, wholly used to the situation by the end of the second week.

Sir Daniel was taking the girls for a walk on the grounds when the Marchioness interrupted her husband’s paperwork with her arrival back home one afternoon, nearly three weeks to the day after she had left. She hit the secret latch that popped a wall open behind a bookcase and shoved the Marquis in, taking him on the bottom steps of the passageway because she could not hold out a moment longer. He wheezed out his thanks to gods long-turned academic, praising them in ancient oaths that also uplifted his wife to their heights and beyond.

That night Sir Daniel was able to move back to his cottage, and the earlessa and her heirs slept with their parents surrounding them. Things were again as they should be: cozy and loving, not wanting to part nor give the children cause for worry.


	18. The Evening Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two sections of this chapter come before chapter ten, The Academy Brat, meaning the rough ages start there and end with everyone as follows: Johan at 63, Daniel at 46, Clara at 44, Lena at 13, Astra/Tara at 11, Sterling at 7, Maglina/Oriana at 5, and Seren as a newborn

It was breakfast when the Marquis and Marchioness decided to tell their children that they were going to be adding one more to the family, expecting the birth to be late in the year, after the snows fly. Breaking the news of Seren was not going to be an easy task, the parents knew, but the initial shock was better than expected. The twins both dropped their forks in their eggs, the youngest two gasped excitedly, while the eldest…

“ _Another one?!_ ” she whined. “Mama, Papa, _I’m_ almost old enough to legally have children!”

“We’ve been trying to have another child for a while, starlet, and now happens to be the time we’ve succeeded,” the Marquis lied. He sliced the sausage on his place calmly and took a bite, trying to appear nonchalant. “Your mama and I wanted to keep it a secret until we knew for certain and now we are.”

“Are we going to get a baby sister?!” Maglina squealed excitedly. “I want a baby sister that me and Ori can play with!”

“We don’t know what the baby will be, but we do know that we will call them Seren,” the Marchioness said. “Having a younger sibling around will be good for all of you.”

“Mama, I can change a nappy in my sleep,” Lena argued.

“Yeah,” Astra chimed in. “It’s not exactly like none of us have ever had any practice.”

“Sterling and Maglina cannot, and now you get to help teach them,” her father said sternly. “A baby sibling is coming whether you want one or not.”

“Maybe Seren will be a boy, and then I can finally have someone around here to beat up,” Tara muttered.

“Boy or girl, you are going to stop that,” the Marquis replied. He turned his attention over to Sterling, who so far had been incredibly quiet. “What do you think? Do you want a little brother or another little sister?”

“Well, a brother might be nice, but I don’t mind having sisters,” the boy admitted. “No matter what we get, it will be a long time before we can do anything really important with the baby. When the baby is my age, I’ll be fourteen and when the baby is fourteen, I’ll be twenty-one. Isn’t that a big difference?”

“There are eight years between Maglina and Lena and they get along splendidly,” the Marchioness mentioned. “Brother or sister, I can assure you that everything will be fine.”

“I don’t know about that, Mama; not everybody is a Maggie,” Lena said, her voice strained.

“Lena Anthea, you will hold your tongue,” her mother ordered. Just then, the door to the breakfast room opened and the children’s tutor walked in, his own daughter at his heels.

“Alright team, ready for the day’s lessons?” he asked. The older three girls all cursed thankfully in the ceremonial tongue and quickly left the room, while Sterling and Maglina stayed, the latter hugging Oriana.

“We’re getting a new baby!” she exclaimed. “Mama and Papa are getting us a new baby sister!”

“A new baby sister?! Wow!” Oriana marveled. She looked at the Marchioness, her brown eyes wide in excitement. “Really, Lady Clara?!”

“I’m having a _baby_ —I don’t know yet if the baby is a boy or a girl, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“I don’t think you can do a lot with a baby though,” Sterling told his friend.

“Talk while you head on over to the schoolroom,” the tutor said. “Go ahead; I’ll catch up.” The children said good-bye and went into the corridor; the second they were out of an earshot, the tutor stared at his employers, eyes bugging. “Another one?!”

“They’re _our_ children, Daniel. We can have as many as we wish.”

“But Johan, I’m going to be teaching six children between the ages of eighteen and four! I didn’t think I’d have to unearth the early Primary documents until Lena has children!”

“If you don’t like it, then quit,” he smirked. “You do have a barony to run, after all.”

“Clara, is this what _you_ want?” the tutor asked, ignoring the Marquis. She glanced up and him and nodded.

“Yes, it is,” she said. “I want this baby just as much as I wanted all my other children. This is no more an accident than Lena was.”

“That doesn’t make me feel much better.”

“ _Don’t worry Daniel_ ; you’d likely be the first I run to if there were any problems between Johan and me. I’m not one for lying to you these days.”

“Sure?”

“Positive.”

“Good; if you need help, Martha’s coming back home in a month. Now if you excuse me…” He then turned and left.

“This better not be a mistake,” the Marchioness said, exhaling heavily.

“None of our starlets are mistakes,” her husband assured. He took her hand in his and brushed her knuckles with his thumb. “Don’t let the children or Daniel make you feel badly about this.”

“I don’t believe they were trying to make me feel bad…”

“…yet that is now how you’re feeling,” he replied. “I’m not going to let you shoulder guilt because of anything anyone says; don’t let those thoughts bring you to a bad place.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you daft thing,” she said. The Marchioness picked up his hand and brought it to her lips. “I simply worry, as a mother should.”

“Then remember that you have help.” He let go of her hand and traced her jaw before going back to his food. “We better hurry up; if those depositions aren’t gone through by the time we hold criminal court tomorrow, someone’s sentencing could be rather detrimental to his state of being.”

“This is true.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was the red of night when the Marchioness woke up, her husband no longer in her arms. He instead was slid down the mattress, cuddling her hips and murmuring in the ceremonial tongue to their unborn.

“Johan, why do you insist on doing this?” she moaned. “You didn’t talk to the other children nearly this much when they were in the womb.”

“Our Seren is the last—it’s unlikely there will be a seventh star for our sky so I must enjoy this while I can,” he defended. “ _Do you hear that, starlet? Mama is being cranky again._ ”

“ _Mama is only concerned about Papa’s sanity_ ,” she retorted. The Marchioness put a hand to her stomach and felt the slight curve where their child sat, growing, living, and with any luck, thriving. “ _I did not marry the Mad Marquis Johan, nor is he the man I fell in love with_.”

“ _Seren, listen carefully_ ,” he said, pressing his forehead next to his wife’s hand. “ _The only things I am truly mad about are my moon and stars—you and your siblings and your mother—and nothing will change that_.”

“ _Careful, Johan_.” She began idly playing with his curls that desperately needed cutting. “ _You and I may be ready for Seren, but our other children aren’t_.”

“ _Give them time_.”

“ _Our time is limited—don’t forget that_.”

“ _I cannot, even if I tried_.” He pressed a kiss to her midsection and shimmied back up to the pillows, gazing into his wife’s eyes, lit by the blood-red moon. “What Sterling said at breakfast the other day has been weighing on my mind—we will be so _old_ when Seren comes of-age. Can we really handle such a thing?”

“You’ve barely aged since our wedding day and this entire thing happened _because_ you were convinced I’ve remained in my twenties while you are clearly not,” she frowned. “Don’t start this mess again. If we need any help as Seren ages, then that is why we have Lena and Astra.”

“…but isn’t that unfair to them?”

“It would be if that Gallifreyan hardheadedness you gave them didn’t run in families,” she said. “It will help them prepare for when they have their own children one day.”

“…which is why you leave out Tara.”

“Of course; and I love her all the same.”

The Marquis slid down slightly and wrapped his arms around his wife, snuggling into her chest. “The moon in my sky, my savior, my love—you are so generous with your affections that all the march and kingdom knows instinctively how fortunate I am when they gaze upon our issue.” He pressed his forehead against her collarbone and grinned between her breasts. “Just think of the fun we shall have when you are completely barren.”

“You dirty old man,” she giggled, tapping the back of his head lightly. They fell asleep as so, entwined and cuddling, uncertain what their youngest child was to bring to the family aside from soiled nappies, sleepless nights, and much more love than their siblings realized.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Months passed, the rains turned to snows, and finally the Marchioness’s pains began. The labor was a long one—longer than any of her previous childbirths—and she needed such peace and quiet afterward that only her husband was allowed in her chambers the entire day following the birth, to the point where Sterling and Maglina stayed with Lena in her room in order to give their mother as much quiet as possible.

A couple days went by and eventually the Marchioness felt well enough to see her other children, wanting to introduce them to their new baby brother while their father was off stuck in a session of court. Only the younger two came, as the older three were busy with sparring and the Academy.

“Wow, he’s just as tiny as Lena said he’d be!” Maglina marveled. She crept up on her toes to look at the tiny bundle in her mother’s arms. “Mama, why couldn’t our Seren be a girl-Seren? Ori and I want a baby sister.”

“You know I can’t control whether or not I have a boy or a girl just as much as you and Oriana can,” the Marchioness chuckled, stroking her daughter’s hair. While Maglina was disappointed at their newest family member, Sterling was quietly curious. “I think you’ll have plenty of fun with Seren once he’s old enough to play. Your sisters had fun with Sterling, if I recall.”

“Yeah, but that’s Sterling and he’s good at playing pretend and tea party and March and stuff,” Maglina frowned. “What if he’s more like Tara?”

“Now that I cannot say,” she smirked. She was about to divert the topic when the door from the corridor flew open and a small streak of blue and brown came bolting in and charged her way to the Marchioness’s side.

“Mum told me we could see the new baby!” Oriana exclaimed as she gulped down air. “Can I see? Can I see? Please?”

“It’s a _boy_ -Seren,” Maglina pouted. Oriana poked gently at the swaddled infant and examined him carefully.

“Are you sure?”

“We’re sure,” the Marchioness chuckled. “Would you like to hold him?”

The little girl’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please! Can I Mum?! Can I?!” She turned her attention towards her own mother, who had just closed the door behind her.

“Are you sure it’s alright?” the physician asked, draping their cloaks on a peg before walking over. The Marchioness nodded and slowly moved her legs over to give Oriana some room on the settee.

“Of course it is, Martha. Everyone needs to learn how to hold a baby.” She had the girl sit down next to her and she carefully put Seren in her arms. “See? Like this. Oh, no dear, keep his head in your elbow or his neck will flop about—it’s not strong enough to support the weight of his head yet.”

“Okay,” Oriana nodded. She furrowed her brow as she concentrated on holding the baby just right, with Maglina climbing up to sit next to her and Sterling leaning over them by arching up on his toes. The physician sat down on the other side of her daughter, groaning in exasperation.

“One of these days, that girl is going to run right past a guard on his first patrol and get arrested for attempting to invade Castle Gallifrey,” she muttered.

“A little too excited, was she?”

“Just a bit.”

“Don’t worry Martha—if anyone gets the privilege to ignore the guards, it’s the three of you.”

“Remind me of that when our daughters start fighting because they’re emotional, teenaged wrecks,” the physician chuckled. She glanced over at her tired friend and gave her a knowing smile. “Now you can’t lie and tell me that Seren was practice making perfect. You think you’ve learned your lesson?”

“Oh, I think so,” the Marchioness sighed, leaning back into the settee. “I just hope our daughters inherited something that will make childbirth easier… and to think that Astra and Tara were the ones I had the least issues with.”

“Why do you think I only ever wanted one, even before I became Baroness Coal-on-the-Hill?” the physician laughed. “You love all your kids though, and that’s what matters most. Not everyone has the ability to raise six children with as few problems as you do.”

“Yeah, but…” The Marchioness looked at the children and exhaled before turning back towards her friend, exhausted. “It’s just that Seren is so much _younger_ than the others, and…”

“…that just means you’ll have plenty of help as he grows up. You’re _the Doctor_ , Clara, and growing up in Gallifrey I learned that the Doctor is the one that can make things go right. Don’t worry; you’ll find a way and everything will work out.” The physician lightly touched the head of the infant in her daughter’s arms, stroking his hair and gently tapping his nose. “You’re going to be very loved here, Seren. I can guarantee that.”

“Mama, may I hold Seren now?” Sterling asked. “I’d like to hold my brother, please.”

“Martha, I’m sorry, but can you…?”

“One baby transfer, coming right up,” the physician said, standing and kneeling down in front of the settee. She had Sterling sit in her seat and she passed the newborn between the children. Once the brothers were together, she smiled gently at them. “You’ve got a big responsibility now, Sterling.”

The boy’s pale eyes went wide in horror. “I do…?”

“Of course—there are some things only brothers share, just as there are some things only sisters share. Elder brothers are important for younger brothers, because they get to help them when their sisters can’t.”

“…oh,” Sterling nodded quietly. He rocked Seren in his arms, an action practiced on half a dozen dolls both in play and in preparation for the youngest sibling’s birth. Craning his head down, he loudly whispered his first piece of advice. “Stay away from Tara; she’s not a brother and she’ll throw you into the block bin if she gets the chance.” He thought for a moment before adding, “Astra’s okay though.”

“What about me?” Maglina demanded. She balled her hand into tiny fists and jammed them on her hips. “I’m you sister too! And what about Ori? Or Lena?”

Sterling held Seren slightly closer and bent down again. “Lena and Maggie are nice until they’re cross and Ori’s not our sister but Maggie thinks she is so it’s okay to think that if you want. I don’t think she’s our sister, but that’s up to you.” He glanced up and snickered as he saw their sister pouting. “We will all take care of you, Seren, brother or sister or Ori, so don’t worry. That I think we all agree on.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Around the earldom and march, news of the Marchioness’s sixth child was met with mixed emotions. Some had been happy for their ruling lord and lady for all five of the births, yet as things had gone on, many became divided in their reception of the news of more children being reared in Castle Gallifrey. The Earlessa Lena had been prayed for and toasted far and wide, while her twin sisters Astra and Tara were generally seen as a security measure, one to reinforce the line of Johan Lonan and Clara Oswald for in case their eldest daughter died childless. When it was announced that the Marchioness had given birth to a son, some thought that Sterling might truly be the one to inherit their parents’ title and lands, whilst others pondered the possibility of the couple merely wanting a boy. Their youngest daughter, Maglina, was met with confusion—why another child? Wasn’t four enough? Had the Marchioness forgotten her tea? It was good for some to know their rulers still held passion in their hearts, and some were unsure what to make of that knowledge.

Seren, the youngest of the brood, was the child that caused the most varied discussion overall. For the soldiers and servants and staff that knew that the Marchioness was growing barren, it was near a miracle to some degree. To the people in the city, it made them shudder to think that their marquis, once the cold, dour man that earned himself the epithet Black Spectre by no mere accident, was anything close to a sexual being well into his sixties. Even his Gallifreyan blood that made him age slower than his wife didn’t help, as his public personality had long-hardened to be cantankerous and wizened even in his youth. The farmers and the laymen, across the valleys and speckling the towns, presented all sorts of theories over their ale mugs and meat pies. It was a credit to the people and their lord and lady, however, that none of the conspiracies involved an illicit affair with a man other than Lord Kasterborous and Gallifrey—that much was clear. The Marquis and Marchioness were quite clearly in love with one another, although they very rarely said the word itself, and that was what kept the public thinking they were careless _together_. Most arguments could be summed up in that the Marquis had to keep his hands off lady wife during the red of night when their children were just beyond a doorway and shielded by a wall.

What they didn’t think of, was that it was the _Marchioness_ that needed to keep hands off her lord husband.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Very soon after the birth of her youngest, at least in comparison to with her other children, the Marchioness had to take control of the march in her husband’s absence. It was the Dalek Empire again, as they were wont to be, and he had to trudge off to the front with a wife on the mend and nursing. It felt odd for their age that their eldest was a teenager though their youngest was on the breast. There was an actual baby to bid farewell to—an infant who only knew when he was hungry or tired—and it again prompted the uncomfortable thought of one of their children possibly not remembering a parent should one fall in battle. Wars did not wait for babes to age, however, and the Marquis marched off towards the never-ending fight whilst the Marchioness took to the governance chair with Seren in her arms.

“I refuse to conduct business while an infant distracts from the issue at-hand,” the guildmaster said one day during a private office session. He folded his arms over his chest and stared at Seren. “Kids are wonderful, but their place is in the nursery, not in an office.”

“I’d beg to differ, but we do have a contract to discuss,” the Marchioness frowned. The man wasn’t one she enjoyed dealing with, for he was gruffer than the Marquis on a bad day and was about twice as thick on a good one. “Lena, come here, please.”

“Coming, Mama,” she replied. The teen put her pen down and crossed the room, taking her youngest brother from their mother. She walked back over to her desk and propped the baby up against her chest. He wriggled in protest, drooling into his sister’s shoulder and grabbing fistfuls of her dress.

“That’s… _better_ ,” the guildmaster scoffed sarcastically. “She _is_ the earlessa, but she’s still a child herself.”

“I do need _some_ assistance when it comes to my paperwork with my husband gone, considering I’m down a normal hand,” the Marchioness quipped. “Now, do you have the updated contract for your guild’s operation within the city limits?”

“That I do, and my council members and I have a little bit of issue with the new clause about the tax increase,” he said, sitting down in front of the Marchioness’s desk. He took a folded set of papers from his breast pocket and opened up to a specific page. “Two percent overall is a lot, especially for a smithy.”

“We haven’t adjusted the tax rate in a long time, and it’s a half-a-percent a year over the next four years. I think it will be enough time to adjust your prices,” she replied. “Overall, it should be a reasonable increase.”

“Maybe for a merchant or a mason, but we’re already getting squeezed by the scabs that come in from the countryside underselling wares and driving our prices down even further.”

“We’ve done investigating into the countryside smiths and their wares are actually more expensive, not to mention that few have the ability to travel into Gallifrey often enough to impact the city’s pricing,” Lena deadpanned from the other side of the room. She rubbed her fussy brother’s back and kept on reviewing the paper in front of her. “If anything we should increase your tax rates by two percent for the next four years and bring you about level with the country smiths.”

“Why, I never…!” the guildmaster sneered, turning towards the teen. “What gives you the right to speak in such a manner?! Do you even _know_ how to calculate the rate at which we should be paying?!”

“Yeah—I was the one who did it,” she stated. “I even had my sister check my numbers.”

“Which one? The five-year-old?”

“No, the eleven-year-old who could attend the Royal University next year if we allowed it, but will instead take correspondence courses in the fields at which she excels the most,” the Marchioness said firmly. “Now _please_ behave, or I will have you escorted out. How _you_ became guildmaster, I have no idea.”

“Simple: I’m the only one with enough balls to stand up to your lord husband and negotiate,” he replied.

‘ _Few enough **brains** is more like it_ ,’ she thought. “How about this? Shut up and take your contract back for the council to sign, or send someone else to negotiate. Is that clear enough?”

“When does the Marquis get back? I can actually talk with him.”

“Papa’s not coming back until the Daleki troops decide that their side of the border is the one they wish to be on,” Lena interrupted. “My wee brother here could be rolling over in his cot before that happens. It _is_ the downfall of our papa being who he is, after all.”

“Milady, I demand that the earlessa leave the room before we continue negotiations,” the guildmaster scowled. “She thinks she knows what she’s talking about, but she is too young to understand.”

“Now that, I can agree on—she has no idea what she’s talking about,” the Marchioness agreed. She looked at her daughter disapprovingly as she stood and approached her. “Your papa _will_ be back in time to see Seren roll over for the first time.” She picked up her son and bounced him gently in her arms. “That’s right, darling; if Papa was there for his other stars, he will definitely be there for his Evening Star.”

“Excuse my impudence, milady, but just hire a nanny and get it over with,” the guildmaster glowered. “You and His Lordship are not doing yourselves any favors by pretending that you can both run the march and the earldom _and_ raise six children as if you were baseborn commoners without two coins to rub together. What do our tax increases go to if not a governess to raise all your little spares?”

“The roads, for one, similar to the sort that you’ll be traveling on in a few moments,” the Marchioness said. “Lena, please.” The earlessa grumbled and stood from her chair, heading over to the guildmaster’s side. She took one of his arms and twisted it back, not enough to injure him, but just enough so that she was able to ease him from his seat and force him out of the room. After closing the door behind him, she remembered his guild’s contract and brought it to him, dropping it to the floor.

“Come back when the pudding in your brain’s been let to set and firm up,” she told him, voice flat and bored. She turned her head towards the row of seats, where a few other people were waiting to be seen. “Next in line, if you please.”

Seeing the scene before them, those that were readying to have a private audience with the Marchioness were beginning to rethink their desires. With the help she had via her older children, their liege lady should have been able to relax a moment and keep from being the ruthless working mother the rumors depicted her as. The next person in line gulped and entered the office though, knowing that no one would really have their Marchioness any other way.


	19. The Children's Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today, December 15th, is the Stars in A Sky of Blood and Blue first anniversary, so I decided to post a new chapter to celebrate!

It was a warm day in late winter, just on the cusp of Spring; the seasonal birds were beginning to flit back to Castle Gallifrey and bulb flowers were starting to poke through the earth. The Marquis and Marchioness were spending the morning in the study, going through paperwork and filing letters with their youngest playing quietly on the rug, when the conversation topic arose.

“Lena hasn’t planned her first event,” the Marquis said, a cold wash of realization dousing him. “She’s nearly sixteen and she hasn’t hosted an event on her own.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” the Marchioness replied. She shuffled some papers in order to find the one she was looking for and nodded to herself. “You were never much for entertaining, so maybe she isn’t either. There are worse things.”

“Yes, but if she never knows how, what will happen if we are gone away on business and she has to throw something together last-minute?” he reasoned. “Parties and balls and formal events don’t just magically happen.”

“If she was ready to play hostess, I think she would have come forward about it.” She paused for a moment as Seren bounced over to her and held up his arms, scooping up the toddler and placing him in her lap so that he could snuggle into his mama. “We can’t force these things, you know. If she plans something before she’s ready and it goes terribly, she would never want to host another function for as long as she lives.”

“Normally I would agree with you, but Lena is not in a normal position,” her husband frowned. “Our daughter is not training for a married life where she’s shut away or a life where she can have things done in her stead, but is training to be a _diplomat_ of the highest degree. I got away with not entertaining often because I lost Melody, her child, and both our fathers to the earth in quick succession—Lena has no such excuse and I hope she never will.”

The Marchioness thought on that, her face drawing thin. “I did not plan my first event until I was well of marrying age.”

“…and your father was still attempting to find you a husband without a title so he could rule instead of you.” The Marquis sighed heavily as he leaned backwards into his seat. “I respect your papa, but I do think he was wrong in that regard. Please don’t think ill of me.”

“No, I understand,” she replied, petting her youngest child’s hair absentmindedly. “Sometimes I do forget our odd situation.”

“Only because it is so natural to us, everyone else is the odd one,” he grinned. He reached across the table and put his hand on hers, gazing lovingly into her eyes. “Why don’t we ask her tonight over dinner? Give her some time to decide on what she wants to plan and request she makes a decision by her birthday; how about it?”

“That sounds reasonable,” the Marchioness agreed. “We can give her a budget and offer her opinions, but no help. This has to be hers and hers alone.”

“Of course,” the Marquis nodded. “Now let us finish up here before we talk any more about it; we can’t go to dinner with the children having finished their work for the day while we haven’t.”

* * *

“You want me to _what_ …?” Lena asked, flabbergasted. It was dinnertime and the entire family was gathered at the table. The eldest sibling was stunned at her parents’ suggestion, the thought having seemingly come out of the blue. “Mama, Papa, I don’t _need_ to bother figuring out how to put on a _ball_. I’d much rather work on my grasp of law and my military command than have to plan a ball and then sit through it.”

“Hosting and attending balls are just as important as law and stratagem,” the Marchioness explained. “Women and men both attend them, nobles _and_ soldiers alike, and it’s about time you plan your first party.”

“That sounds exciting!” Maglina squeaked. “Oh, oh, can we help?! I wanna help!”

“Maggie, we’re still in the nursery—we can’t help yet,” Sterling whispered in his sister’s ear. “We’ll only be in the way.”

“Oh, I want to help,” the little girl sighed dejectedly.

“Maybe another time,” Astra said kindly. She then turned to her parents. “Mama, Papa, may _I_ help Lena if she needs some assistance? I already plan on being her advisor, so this would be a good exercise for me as well.”

“If Lena agrees,” the Marquis replied.

“Johan, Lena I understand, but isn’t Astra a little young?” the Marchioness questioned.

“No, she’s correct,” he gently argued. “Our daughters are mature enough to plan an event together if that is what they wish. I’d even suggest getting Tara in on the venture, but something tells me it will be a miracle if she even _attends_ whatever is planned.”

“Thanks for being perceptive, Papa,” Tara nodded. “Astra can be Lena’s right hand here at home, but I can be her left hand out on the front. It’s not a problem.” She shoveled some food in her mouth and pondered as she chewed. “You know, between the three of us, I’m pretty sure we’ll have the marquisate under control before Seren grows chin fuzz.”

“Yeah, but, I don’t want to plan anything _now_ ,” Lena protested. “I’ve got loads of coursework to do for Sir Daniel!”

“Plenty of others, us included, host parties while juggling other tasks that spread beyond the importance of coursework,” the Marchioness replied. “It will be good practice, for it won’t be all the time if you fall behind on your agenda it’s only a matter of extra reading.”

Lena’s shoulders slumped as a grimace spread across her face. “Do I _have_ to…?”

“Yes,” both her parents said. The teen slumped in her chair and groaned in defeat—there was no convincing them if they were already in agreement.

“How long do I have?”

“You need to make a decision on what you shall do by your birthday,” the Marquis said. “That should be more than enough time to ponder the event and logistics and how to stay within budget. If you want some advice, your mama and I are always there to help guide you in the right direction.”

“What if my birthday comes and I can’t think of anything?” she asked.

“Oh, we have faith in you,” the Marchioness said. She leaned over and wiped her younger son’s face with a cloth, removing the applesauce that seemed to magically be getting everywhere but inside his mouth. “You _will_ have something that you will start putting together by your birthday. Do you understand?”

“…yes, Mama,” Lena said. She scowled and began shoving her food around her plate with the fork; this was the last thing that she wanted, yet there was no choice to be had in the matter.

* * *

Later on that night, Lena laid slumped on her bed, over the covers and staring at the ceiling. Astra and Tara were in the room with her as well, sitting at the table that contained their sister’s multitude of books and papers and barely enough room for their tea tray.

“I don’t want to host a ball,” Lena grumbled. “Why can’t I worry about that when I’m an adult?”

“Probably so that when you are an adult, it won’t be a problem,” Astra replied, delicately sipping her tea. “Papa and Mama have been taking you to court since you were a baby for that very reason.”

“Yeah, but that’s _court_ ,” Lena argued. “Being able to handle yourself in court could end up being a matter of life or death—an event, as vague as that is, is not nearly as dangerous.”

“Oh, I dunno, it could be,” Tara said as she munched on a biscuit. “I’m sure that between the two of you everything will go great.”

“I don’t know what to do though,” Lena said. She sat up and looked over at her sisters. “We’ve only really attended balls to watch and unless we go on our own or with Sir Daniel, we don’t have a chance of seeing the festivals as they really are. We don’t know anything about stuff like _logistics_ … not these sort of logistics, anyways.”

It was then that the door to her bedchamber flew open and Maglina ran into the room, followed closely behind by Sterling. The girl flung herself and her stuffed bunny on the bed, while her brother tried to drag her off. They were both in their nightdresses, meaning that they were definitely not supposed to be there.

“Come _on_ , Maggie!” Sterling protested. “Mama and Papa are going to catch us!”

“But I wanna help!” Maglina insisted. She crawled into Lena’s side and clung to her eldest sister. “Lena, please tell Sterling I can help!”

“…but I don’t know if you can do anything to help,” Lena said gently. “It’s very nice of you to offer, but I don’t know if Astra and I can even do anything. Besides, you both should be in bed.”

“Yeah, but Maggie said that she needed to find out what you were going do or she wouldn’t sleep,” Sterling said. “Papa said you had until your birthday, right?”

“He did, but I don’t want to invite a bunch of their friends over so they can tell me how adult I am,” Lena groused. “That’s really all this is.”

“Then don’t invite their friends!” Maglina suggested. “Invite yours!”

“Well, that’s a very short list,” Tara scoffed. “You got us, maybe some of the serdars’ kids, Ori… that’s not exactly a large social circle.”

“Netta Braxos! We can invite her!” Maglina said excitedly.

“Maggie, she’s _five_ ,” Lena sighed. “I don’t know if Netta’s parents would let her come all this way just for a party.” She stroked her baby sister’s hair as the girl became crestfallen.

“That’s something I don’t think Mama and Papa understand,” Astra frowned. “We don’t have many friends yet, because we don’t have the luxury of having been presented or attended balls for socialization. They have, so it’s easier for them.”

The room grew silent as the siblings thought about that. It really was going to be an uphill battle, whether all of them helped or not. No matter what they were at a disadvantage, which made things seem all the more intimidating.

“Wait a second…” Lena said, perking up slightly. “What if the party isn’t for Mama and Papa’s friends, but more for those our age?”

“I thought Astra _just_ went over this: we have no friends,” Tara deadpanned. “I’m the closest one out of the lot of us to actually have friends, and that’s because of the Academy knuckleheads.”

“No, I mean, make it open to Gallifrey’s youth, since we don’t have very many friends to begin with,” Lena explained. She stood and walked over to the table, carrying Maglina over and setting her down on a chair. “It can be something just for young people, so that way no one in attendance knows what a real ball should look like. We could make a lot of friends in the smallfolk and open up to some of the people that matter most, before they realize how important they are.”

“Wait, you mean _everyone_ …?” Astra marveled. “That’s way too many people.”

“When Mama and Papa host balls, all the people they invite don’t always show up,” her elder sister rationalized. “ _They_ don’t even attend all the balls they’re invited to, friends and distant acquaintances alike.”

“Yeah, because they have more important shit to do,” Tara said. “Who do you want running around? A bunch of farm kids Netta’s age?”

“No, I’m thinking seven—any person from Gallifrey and the immediate area from seven to seventeen can attend if their parents permit them. Once you start with that, then you have the kids that aren’t allowed to go yet, plus the ones that don’t want to go, so everything should be fine crowd-wise.”

“You _are_ going to cock this one up,” Tara snarked. “Can’t wait to hear what the word about it is over at the Academy.”

“How about you leave before I go and make sure you’re going to school with a black eye for the next week,” Lena ordered. She pointed towards her door and her sister left, affectionately flipping her a two-fingered salute as she vanished into the corridor. “Alright, tomorrow’s a free day, yeah? I think we should get cracking on coming up with ideas for this party.”

“Yes! That’s a great idea!” Maglina squealed, rolling around on her sister’s bed. “Oh! If it’s a free day, that means Ori can come! Can Ori help?!”

“Only if she wants to,” Astra said, knowing that’s what Lena’s answer would be. She then was able to coax their youngest sister out of the room, Sterling going along as they crept back into the nursery. The siblings went to bed feeling good, knowing that they were going to show Gallifrey the best ball that it had ever hosted.

* * *

“Alright, this is what I have down so far: a magician, an orchestra, one of those performing bears, a puppet show, that panto group we saw when visiting Grandpapa’s summer home last year, and games in the yard.” Astra made small dots in front of the items on the list as she named them off. It had been a long, arduous task narrowing it down to those, as most of the morning had been taken up with arguing over what things were appropriate and what was not. Now with Sterling asleep in a pile of cushions, Maglina and Oriana having piled atop him while pretend-playing as bunnies, it was up to the elder two siblings to make the list final.

“Should we ask Sir Daniel what he did as a kid?” Lena wondered. “He grew up _in_ the Gloucester Academy—I’m sure he knows if something is considered as too high-class for smallfolk to enjoy.”

“Would that be considered rude?” Astra mused. “I mean, we can’t just go up to him and ask what poor kids do for fun.”

“Not framed like that we can’t,” her sister agreed. She thought for a moment before nodding to herself. “We could say that we’d ask Tara, but we want a real answer and not a joke one.”

“I guess so… but how late do you think we should keep the ball open?”

“As much as I don’t want to: nightfall.”

Astra exhaled heavily and rubbed her temple, wishing the teapot had not run out an hour beforehand. “Why?”

“Everyone knows the best balls run into the night—it’s in faerie stories,” Lena said. She thought for a moment and frowned. “Is that another thing to put on the list of things to ask Sir Daniel?”

“The _‘Sir Daniel, please tell us things because you were baseborn until your love for our mama landed you with a body full of metal, an unnatural complexion, and a barony to boot’_ list. Got it.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Lena frowned. Sarcasm sat thick in the air as they continued hammering out their lists.

* * *

It was a week before Lena’s birthday and she was sitting in on a session of court. Things that morning had run smoothly, even though there had been a long dispute over the ownership of some wayward cattle, to the point where all the disputes and declarations had been taken care of well before lunchtime. The Marquis made to stand and call the session closed, but Lena stopped him.

“Hold on, Papa; I have an announcement concerning that event you wanted me to host,” she whispered. “I’ll go ahead and close court afterwards.”

“Excellent news, starlet,” he beamed. Turning back towards the room, he raised his voice so everyone could hear. “And now the Earlessa has an announcement before we finish for the morning. Lena?”

“Thank you, Papa,” she said, standing. She waited until her father sat down before addressing the people. “In a week I turn sixteen. Had I been betrothed it would be the earliest day at which I could wed and give myself to a lord husband. That is not my fate, however, and I still get to enjoy my childhood for a while longer.”

The crowd murmured and nodded in agreement. The traditional age of marriage was one that was not resorted to often, unless an emergency called for it, and it was always a thing to celebrate when avoided. “That is why,” Lena continued, “I shall be hosting a special sort of ball on my birthday, the first of many events I hope to plan during my tenure not only as earlessa, but as marchioness and Doctor alike.”

In their seats, the Marquis and Marchioness grinned at one another—their ploy had worked. Lena was to host her first event, and everything would go well… except…

“I shall now formally extend the invitation to attend towards my fellow Kasterborsians, aged seven to seventeen, living within the City of Gallifrey and her surrounding foothills,” the teen announced. “I wish to be with my people on such an important day, and it is my humble belief that in order for a ruler to be the most effective, they need to know who it is they have been granted rule over, from the children of lesser lords to those whose only home is the Academy. Permission slips are being passed around to the Gallifreyan Primary, College, and Academy. Chaperones of those twelve and under shall be cared for, and the greatest precaution towards security of my fellow marchers will be taken. The only present I ask for is for as many to attend and enjoy themselves as possible. Thank you for your time, and I call this session of court closed.”

Silence gripped the governance hall like few could recall. The earlessa’s parents sat dumbstruck, clearly having been sideswiped by the entire thing, while those in attendance were unsure whether to turn the news into paltry gossip or something to protest. Lena descended the dais and walked out of the room, her head held high and a smirk on her face. The shock of opening up a castle ball to commoners was unprecedented, and to even the basest-born of children at that—few had even a hint as to what to think. Astra was waiting for her sister out in the corridor, an expectant look on her face.

“So? How’d they take it?” she wondered. “I couldn’t hear a thing.”

“That’s because they’re struck speechless,” Lena smirked. The sisters high-fived one another and went on their way, incredibly pleased with their efforts.

* * *

A week passed and the most unusual ball that Castle Gallifrey had ever hosted was underway. It started at noon and ran until an hour before sundown, so that the partygoers could still walk home in broad daylight. The Marquis grouchily holed himself up in the family’s private wing, avoiding the scores upon scores of tiny pudding brains that were running around his ancestral home, screeching and causing too much a ruckus for his liking, instructing his youngest how to behave despite the fact the boy could barely pronounce large words properly. They kept to themselves, even avoiding Tara as she went between her room and the private family office for some extra studying to prepare for an impending test to be accepted into the Officer’s Program at the Academy. She didn’t want to be caught by her classmates and need to explain her position, otherwise she’d be down at the party and stay up late for her studies.

From a hidden perch, the Marchioness watched her daughters and eldest son host the informal ball from afar. She saw how the guests were enjoying themselves, and that her own children were getting along well with the strangers, laughing and playing and socializing effortlessly. Lena herself appeared to be the happiest, barely a moment without a young child coming up for a hug, or a group of girls her own age make their way over to gossip. She even saw a sweaty teenaged boy present her daughter with a bouquet of starflowers and a kiss to her hand. Laughing, the Marchioness left her hiding place and went to find the hall where the adult chaperones were being kept, where she too began to mingle with the people she had the honor of governing. They met her with surprise and gratitude, congratulating her on having raised such a level-headed and humble daughter for being only sixteen. It was a party enjoyed by all whom attended and stayed on the lips of the people for years to come.

That night, however, once the castle was cleared and dinners eaten, the earlessa and her siblings began to doze off early, starting to nod off in the lounge as their parents chatted with their tutor and his wife. It was up to the older ones to put the younger children to bed (Oriana included, as she simply shared a bed with Maglina for the night), but afterwards it was all Tara could do to make sure her elder sister and her twin actually made it to their own beds and not just collapsing on a couch in the nursery. It had been an exciting and eventful day, one that, although initially planned out of spite, was one of the best times the children had ever experienced.


	20. Lena (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is mainly to address the aftereffects of chapter six. The recurring theme of the soldier in s8 was really interesting to me and I'm glad for how they handled it.

_There was blood everywhere, the only splashes of color in the world of grey. Lena ran through the camp, dodging soldiers and swords and blasters, crying the entire way. A Kasterborsian soldier’s body fell on top of her, pushing her down into the mud. She struggled to push the dead weight off until finally she was free. Crawling away, she hid between two tents until she could run again—she **had** to get to Mama._

_There it was: the medical tent. It nearly shone as a safe haven in the death and bloodshed. She dashed towards the tent, hoping to find her mother there, a baby in her arms, protected by Lady Martha and other soldiers. Everything was going to be fine, she **knew** it._

_Except, when Lena entered the tent, all she saw was the same sort of scene that was outside. The sound of the battle muffled as the door flap closed behind her and she tiptoed through the mess. Overturned tables, dead and dying soldiers—it was more terrible things to shrink back from. She stood there, frozen, not knowing what to do._

_That was when she heard it—a baby crying. Lena looked in the corner of the tent and saw her mother and Lady Martha laying still on the ground, the latter on her back with her eyes wide open and the former curled around something. The girl cautiously approached and saw her baby sister wriggling and protesting in their mother’s unmoving arms, already swaddled in a warm blanket splattered in mud._

_“Maglina…!” Lena gasped, diving in for her sister. She picked the baby up and bounced her gently in an effort to calm her. There was a basket nearby, which gave her an idea. She lined it with towels and placed the newborn inside, keeping her contained and safe while she looked for something to feed her. The best thing that was there was some water, and Lena **knew** babies needed milk. Sterling had needed lots of milk all the time—she was going to have to go to the mess tent._

_Just as Lena was about to drag her sister out into the fray, a Sontarian soldier stepped into the tent. The little girl stepped in front of the basket and unsheathed the knife at her waist, holding it in front of her with both hands._

_“No closer!” she ordered. The Sontarian did stop walking, but instead raised his phaser rifle and…_

Lena gasped as she woke up, clutching her stuffed lion tightly in her arms. Maglina was whimpering in her cot over on the other side of the room, making just enough noise to wake her eldest sister. Astra, Tara, and Sterling seemed to be fast asleep in their beds, so Lena went over to the cot and bent over it, gently picking the baby up.

Carefully, the girl padded over to the door to her parents’ bedchamber and opened it, slipping inside with ease. The Marquis and Marchioness were laying tangled in one another’s limbs, sleeping soundly. Lena tapped her mother’s arm, waking her up.

“Oh, there you are, Lena,” she muttered groggily, freeing her limbs from her husband. “What’s the matter?”

The girl held up her sister, the babe still wriggling.

“Do you think she’s hungry?” the Marchioness asked. Her eldest nodded in reply. “Okay, let’s go feed her.” She got out of bed and shuffled over to the settee, where she sat down before allowing Lena to pass her the baby. “Do you want to stay?”

Silently, Lena crawled up onto the cushion and watched her baby sister feed. The Marchioness kept one arm holding up her youngest, while the other stayed around her eldest as long as she could spare. There had been a distinct change in Lena’s behavior since they had returned from the front two months prior, which admittedly worried the mother.

“Did you have another bad dream?” she wondered. The girl nodded. “Was it… about the front?”

“Yeah,” Lena squeaked, the only word she’d said since getting up. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she remembered the nightmare. “I’m scared, Mama.”

“We all get scared; it will pass,” the Marchioness explained. Soon as she burped Maglina, the infant fell asleep in her arms, belly full and content. “Let’s put you two back in the nursery, yeah? Get some more rest while the sky is red.”

“Okay…”

Lena made sure to hold open the door for her mother, staring as she put Maglina down in her cot. Then the Marchioness made sure Lena crawled back up into her bed, tucking her in and giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead for comfort.

“The Sontarians can’t get you here, sweetie,” she said. The Marchioness smoothed out her daughter’s hair and hushed her sniffling. “There are literally thousands of soldiers between Gallifrey and every front Kasterborous is sworn to defend; you are safe.” She stayed by Lena’s side as she fell asleep, only then returning to her own bed. Wrapping her arms around her husband, she fretted into the remainder of the night, hoping that what happened wasn’t permanent.

* * *

“Clara, are you well?” the Marquis asked. The door behind their eldest three and their tutor had already closed and it was the two of them for breakfast, him with Sterling in his lap and her with Maglina in an arm. The Marchioness exhaled heavily and took a sip of her tea.

“I’m worried, Johan,” she said. “Lena is saying less and less with each passing day.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” he replied. “The first battle isn’t easy—even you weren’t fully yourself again for a while.”

“I saw my first battle at twenty-six… Lena is _eight_ ,” she reminded him. “She brought me Maglina last night for feeding and she said five words the entire time. Not five words over and over, but five. Period. Something’s _wrong_.”

“Yes, but something should _always_ be wrong after someone’s first battle, no matter the age,” he said. He saw his son was attempting to test the limits of his nostril with a peeled apple slice and wrenched it away from the boy, placing it on a far plate. “Our daughters are tough and resilient; Lena will be fine, but you must give her time to come to grips with the reality of things.”

“That her mother, sister, and an aunt-figure all nearly died in front of her?!” she snapped.

“No: that violence can _always happen_ , no matter how safe we feel!” The Marquis noticed that Sterling had begun to whimper and he lowered his voice, bouncing his knee to soothe the boy. “I’m sorry, but she’s been raised knowing that she will have to go to war, and that people will die whether she wills it or not. It’s not the world I want to give our children, but it is the only world we have to give. She will understand soon enough.”

“I want you to be correct, Johan, but I’m her mother and I don’t think she’s going to wake up one morning free from this curse. There are adults with battle sickness that never recover… your own great-grandfather suffered his entire life,” she said. “Now, what do we do?”

“I… don’t know…”

“There has to be _something_ …”

“I will think about it, as I’m sure you shall as well, and between us we should come up with something,” he assured her.

“We better, or poor Astra might have to start thinking about putting aside her numbers for governance,” she frowned, “because I don’t see Lena being fit to take our place if this sort of thing continues. Battle sickness doesn’t make someone less a person, but they are more suited to clerical work and not leading an army and dealing with disgruntled marchers. It’s why the Ninth Marquis did not last for very long in his position.”

“I know my family history, and _don’t_ think I’m ignoring this, but she needs more time to come to terms with this on her own. If she doesn’t, _then_ we step in, and whatever ends up happening, she _will_ be stronger for it.” He stroked Sterling’s hair and bent down to talk to the boy. “Can you promise us something, starlet?”

“Promise, Papa,” the boy said.

“Can you promise us to protect your sisters, like they will protect you, and be a source of strength for them even when Mama and Papa are gone?”

“ _Johan_ …”

“Your sisters are strong, but they will bottle it up inside because it is who they are; if they bottle too much, they will break. Please make sure they don’t break.”

“Papa, apple, please,” Sterling requested, pointing towards the apple slice that had been taken away from his nostril. His father pulled back his hand and placed it at his side.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” he sulked.

* * *

It was after lunch and the Marchioness was bringing Lena, Astra, and Tara back to the schoolroom, having left Sterling and Maglina in the charge of her husband. The tutor was not there when she arrived, so she sat and waited for him to return, his own daughter hooked in an arm.

“It’s a surprise to see you here, Clara,” he beamed, setting Oriana down in her playpen in the corner. He could see his charges’ mother was being shown all manner of projects that had had been done over the past week, and it was amusing. “I’ve got the girls now, so you can go back to your study if you need to.”

“Actually, I wanted to talk with you for just a moment before you begin for the afternoon,” she replied. After making sure the students were reading their next lessons, they went out into the corridor. “I need to know: how is Lena doing in her studies since coming back from the front?”

“She still does exceptionally well—her work in the classroom has not suffered—but…”

“…but…?” The Marchioness raised an eyebrow.

“…but she’s become incredibly withdrawn. I had been hoping you and Johan were taking care of it, though the fact we’re even having this conversation makes me think otherwise.”

“Johan and I both know she will pull through it, but he insists on waiting before intervening to any large degree,” she said. “I think, however, if she would have come out of it naturally, she would have done so already. Can you talk with her? I don’t know what exactly to say…”

“Don’t worry,” the tutor said. He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her brow. “I’ll talk with Lena; she will know that she’s not alone.”

“Thank you,” the Marchioness nodded gratefully. She then left, making her way back towards her husband and younger children, leaving the tutor to his job.

It took until it was time to bring the girls out to play before the tutor decided to take any action. He watched carefully until it seemed appropriate, and sat down on one of the stone garden benches.

“Lena? Can I talk with you, please?” he called out. All three sisters approached him, however. “Tara, Astra, I wanted to talk with Lena _alone_.”

“Why? Is she in trouble?” Tara wondered.

“No, but…” he trailed off, trying to figure out something for the twins to do. “How about if you and Astra take Oriana over to the fountain to play with the water? I’ll be right here if anything bad happens.” That was good; the fountain was in the courtyard and easily in his line of vision. Astra plucked Oriana from her basket and she and Tara led the baby over the grass, each clutching one of her hands. When they were out of earshot, the tutor turned towards Lena. “Do you know why I’ve sat you down?”

She shook her head.

“We’re talking because of that,” he pointed out. “You’ve been quiet lately, Lena, and I’ve noticed you’re getting a bit timid. “Is there something you want to talk about? Something that maybe your parents might not understand?”

“No…” Lena drew up her knees and hugged them—a clear lie.

“You’re not doing poorly in class, but I can tell that something is on your mind. It’s been there since you and your mum came back home with Maglina; does it have something to do with that?”

“I…” she squeaked, “I’ve been having a bad dream.”

“Have you told your parents?”

“No; it would make them cry and they’re worried already.”

“What are they worried about?” he wondered.

“Normal stuff,” she said. “Taxes and soldiers and laws and pudding brains.”

“Maybe if you tell me what your nightmare is about, I might be able to help,” the tutor offered. “I’m not your dad, but I am _a_ dad, and I’ve known you since you were a baby.” He leaned forward in an attempt to see her face, as she had turned her gaze to the ground.

“Promise you won’t tell?”

“Promise.”

Lena paused before wiping her nose, sniffling as her eyes began to water. “I keep on dreaming that we died.”

Now _that’s_ the sort of thing the tutor was looking for. “That who died?”

“Lady Martha, Mama, Maglina, and me,” she clarified. “I dream that I’m at the front again, and I have to find Mama and Lady Martha, but they die before I find them, and right when I go to take Maglina to find the mess tent for some milk…”

“You don’t have to say any more,” he cut in. He carefully put an arm around her shoulders, allowing her to lean into him for support. “You’re going through something that many soldiers go through: it’s called ‘ _battle sickness_ ’, and it affects many, many people who see fighting.”

“…but, I’m not a soldier. I’m just a kid.”

“Yes, you _are_ a kid, but that doesn’t mean that you’re always safe,” he said. “You are lucky to have survived that battle—you _all_ were—but that doesn’t mean you came out of it unhurt. Bad people don’t care who they have to hurt to do their job, and that’s the worst part.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better, Sir Daniel,” she replied. “I’m really scared.”

“I’d be more worried about you if you _weren’t_ scared,” he admitted. “Being scared means that you know what’s at stake, you know how bad things can become, and it’s much better to be afraid and live than to be stupid and die.”

“…but Mama and Papa say we always _have_ to be brave!” the girl protested.

“Don’t mix up bravery and stupidity, Lena,” the tutor said firmly. “Bravery involves being scared but doing the right thing anyhow, while stupidity… it doesn’t matter how well someone does, because it is always a stupid thing to go into a military operation without even the tiniest bit of fear. It’s what sets us apart from the Cyberans and Daleki and Sontarians and anyone else who might want to hurt Kasterborous and Gallifrey; they don’t fear and are overconfident. We fear, and because of this, even when we are confident, we are cautious. Does this make sense?”

“Yeah, a little bit,” she muttered. “The Sontarians were still wrong.”

“That’s true—children shouldn’t be a target,” he agreed. “I nearly lost four of my favorite ladies that day, but I didn’t, because they were scared and brave and didn’t let anyone through that tent flap.” He hugged his charge a bit tighter and patted her shoulder. “I think I have a project for you.”

“What’s that?”

“Every time you have this dream,” he said, “I want you to write it down. Even if it’s the red of night, you need to write down what you saw and how you felt. When you’re done with that, write down something good from the dream. It could be it could be that you still had your sister, or that you were able to sneak past a guard undetected. If every time you find something new that’s good, eventually the dream will stop being so scary because of all the positive stuff in it.”

“Will that work?” she asked.

“It did for me,” he told her. “I want you to share the papers with me, okay? If this doesn’t work for you, we can find something else. Lady Martha has seen plenty of soldiers with battle sickness and she might have ideas. Don’t be afraid to talk about it.”

“Thank you, Sir Daniel,” Lena said quietly. “Can we go back inside now?”

“I think so.”

* * *

The very next day, Lena placed a few sheets of paper on her tutor’s desk, covered with her child’s hand. He read it while the girls were reading, smiling when he got to the last sentence.

“A good thing that happened is I lived,” it read, and he was proud.

The papers kept on coming, nearly every day for a couple weeks. It was nearly at a month when there was two days in a row without a paper. By the time the trees changed colors, the papers had almost stopped entirely, the side-effect being that Lena was smiling and giggling and talking as she had before. When the Violet Sky came, she claimed to have not had the nightmare in _ages_.

The tutor knew that children were resilient, but to come back from something like that in such a sort amount of time only made him swell in pride at his eldest pupil. She was going to become an understanding ruler one day, and any enemy soldier had better watch their backs or she would smite them down in an instant because she knew the trouble she was in, the trouble they were all in. Lessons weren’t always fun or in the classroom, and learning to deal with and work around them was going to be an essential skill to have.

There was nothing that would stand in her way now. He could feel it.


	21. A Gift of Ancient Gallifrey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this is fluffy; the second part is pretty dark, so there's no shame in bailing.
> 
> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 59, Clara at 40, Lena at 9, Astra/Tara at 7, Sterling at 3, and Maglina at 1

One grey morning, in the early Spring, the Marquis woke up to find that his bed was significantly more occupied than it was when he went to sleep. Not only was his son curled up in the bedding, but his youngest daughter as well. The Marchioness had one child on either side, with Sterling being the one wedged between them, the two having come in the red of night.

“Good morning, my moon and stars,” he murmured lovingly, leaning over to kiss his wife. Her eyes fluttered open and she glanced at him hazily, still somewhat asleep.

“Can you get the older girls ready for the day?” she requested. “I think I’m going to have a small lie-in with these two.”

“Are you feeling alright?” He placed his hand on her forehead, only to get a chuckle out of her instead.

“Yes, I’m fine, just tired still—Maglina and Sterling both were fussy last night, is all.”

“You should have woken me.”

“It wasn’t terrible—it’ll be alright.”

“As long as all is well,” he nodded. After another kiss he slid out of bed and quickly dressed himself, making sure he wore thicker fabrics to compensate for the chilly wind beating on the windowpanes, and walked into the nursery to find his eldest three daughters still asleep. He drew open the drapes and clapped his hands loudly. “Time to get up! Rise and shine!”

A round of groans and moans was the reply he was met with. Lena rolled out of her bed and allowed herself to drop solidly to the floor before getting up, while Tara and Astra remained curled up under their covers, burrowing their heads under their pillows.

“Come on now,” their father warned. He patted the two blanket-lumps and watched them barely wriggle. “Don’t go all pudding-brained on me now.”

“They have a headache, Papa,” Lena said as she rummaged through her wardrobe. She took out a pink dress and laid it out over her rumpled bed, inspecting it carefully. “They could barely sleep last night, because of all the twin-things they have to share, it’s being ill.”

“Now that won’t do,” he said. The Marquis peeled back Astra’s blanket and saw the tight ball his little girl was curled into, making his heart shatter. “Let’s get you up and maybe the physician can do something about this…” He touched her bare arm and a scream filled his head, making him flinch back.

“Our heads hurt,” Astra whimpered.

“Yeah… there’s a bunch of noises,” Tara added.

“…oh,” the Marquis muttered. He knelt down between the twins’ beds and placed a hand on each of them. “Now, get dressed please. I know how to handle this headache problem.”

“You do…?” Tara asked.

“Of course; have some breakfast if you feel you can eat, but meet me in the study afterward.”

The twins’ tiny voices squeaked in agreement and the Marquis left the girls to their own devices. He went down to breakfast, where he was eventually joined by Lena and Sterling, with Maglina still in the nursery with the Marchioness. It was not until the Marquis went to the family’s private study did he finally see his twins again, huddled together with cups of sweet tea likely brought by a maid.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, bending down to look in their eyes.

“Still terrible,” Tara frowned. “Why can we hear all these funny voices?”

“ _Magic_ ,” he replied. He tried not to laugh as his daughters looked at him funny while putting down their cups. “We, being Gallifreyans, are able to use the ancient magic of our peoples. It manifests differently in different people, and you, my dears, are telepaths.”

“Telepaths…?” Astra wondered. “You mean, those are people’s _thoughts_?”

“Yes, of course. I am a telepath too, thought I rarely use the power. It’s a very rude thing to invade people’s innermost thoughts without their permission, so I mostly use it to figure out what you children needed when you were babies that could not speak.”

Tara scrunched up her nose critically. “…but you could use that kind of power to make court trials shorter and more effective. You don’t use it then?”

“Never,” her father said sternly. “Your thoughts belong to _you_ and no one else. You can allow people into your mind, you may accidentally slip into someone unguarded, but forcing one’s way into another person’s head like that is a criminal offense. There are laws against it, and even though they are old and rarely-known, they still exist and are very capable of harming you. The fewer people who know you have the ability, the better.”

“How do we control the voices, though, Papa?” Astra asked. Her brow was furrowed as though she was bracing herself against a constant noise.

“Sit down here, starlet,” he replied, patting the cushion next to him. Both girls sat down, crowding in so they were side by side. The Marquis gingerly placed his pointer fingers on Astra’s temples, with his thumbs close to the center of her forehead, and closed his eyes. “Do you feel something nudging your head? A sort of presence?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“That’s me. Let me in and I will help you build a wall of defense.”

“You can come in, Papa. I trust you.”

The Marquis entered Astra’s mind and shifted her mental fortifications into place, helping her block the unwanted voices in the castle. When that was done, he moved to Tara, and made the same adjustments. Soon the girls were sitting with a look of relief on their faces, very happy their minds were now quiet.

“How did you do that?” Tara asked, her brown eyes wide in curiosity and wonder. “I didn’t think that the ancient magic existed anymore.”

“Anyone can use magic if they wish, but you are correct that not everyone knows the secrets, let alone practices in public,” he affirmed. “The magic is strongest with those descended from Ancient Gallifrey, meanng it’s no surprise that the two of you inherited this gift. People with Gallifreyan blood outside our lands often think of these things as curses, but I can assure you they’re not. Even Lady Martha and Oriana might have inherited magic from their Gallifreyan roots, but I’ve never asked since these days it’s often a private matter.”

“Can Lena or Sterling hear people’s thoughts?” Tara frowned. “Why is it just us?”

“It’s only the two of you because that’s how things happened. Lena knows a couple simple spells, but if she’s a telepath then it hasn’t manifested—I didn’t know about my ability until I was fourteen, nearly fifteen.” The Marquis put a mental block up and thought inwardly about that day, holding hands with his betrothed and the sudden rush of emotion that ensued, only ceasing when they parted. “Chances are you both will be more powerful than me some day, since you can already sense without the need of touch and I can barely manage that.”

“…but if we can’t go into other people’s minds, what _can_ we do?” Astra implored.

“Read their emotions,” he said. “Most people wear their emotions on their sleeve, so to speak, and if you can’t read someone’s face, chances are that their unspoken emotions will be open to you. It will help you one day in sensing the honest person from the false one, whether that be someone asking for Lena’s help as Marchioness, or an enemy soldier giving information, or even a suitor that wants your hand in marriage.” He sighed internally at the thought of giving up his daughters, that one day they will be less his stars and more someone else’s moon. They were too young to have that as a concern, but it was always going to be too early for them in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Papa,” Tara said. “We know we’re always your stars.”

“Even if we’re another’s moon, we started as _your stars_ ,” Astra added. Their father stared at them, his eyes wide and lips parted in bafflement.

“Did you two just read my mind? I didn’t even feel your presence…”

“We felt your emotions, like you told us we could,” Astra said. “You were sorta shouting it with your mind, and we could hear it. What’s it like when that happens? Is that still reading thoughts?”

“If someone is projecting like that, then it’s fine and not your fault,” he exhaled in resignation, now knowing he was going to have to be more careful. “You will not get in trouble for something like that; promise.”

“Okay, but Papa…?”

“Yes Tara?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, I am too, Papa!”

“Then let’s get you down to the kitchens, since I’m sure the footmen took care of the breakfast dishes already, and see what Cook has leftover that will keep you until lunch,” the Marquis decided. His daughters cheered and each took a hand to lead him out of the study. They were going to be fine.

* * *

A while later, though none knew quite how long, it was a free day for all the children and thus all five attended court. Their tutor was spending the day with his wife, newly returned from the front for only a short while, which necessitated more than just the young earlessa’s chair to be set up on the dais. While the Doctors and Earlessa sat at the front of the dais, a great, long bench was procured for the younger children to be sat in the back by the tapestry-covered wall. Maglina was still young enough to be passed between the Marquis and Marchioness, meaning Sterling, Tara, and Astra were all gently commanded to stay where they were unless absolutely necessary.

“I’m bored,” Sterling mumbled. He drew up his knees and tucked his dress over his feet, covering his shoes. “I want to sit with Mama and Papa and Lena.”

“We have to stay _here_ ,” Astra insisted quietly. Even though the topic of discussion was only some spat over farmland versus grazing land boundaries, it was not something that could be interrupted lightly. “Do you want me to read you The Legend of Lady Rudo and Emeka the Noble?”

“No…”

“The Many Tales of Genovefa the Bold?”

“No… I think I’m gonna sleep,” the boy said. He drew his cape around him and cuddled into her side.

Astra had no choice but to put an arm around him before leaning over to Tara and whispering, “He picked this up from you.”

“You’re the one suggesting dumb things to read,” she replied. Tara then winced, as though a sharp pain went through her head. “Ow… what’s going on…?”

“I don’t know—are you okay?”

“It hurts, right here,” Tara said, lightly tapping her skull. Astra glanced over the crowd and felt a twinge in her head as well.

“I feel it too, but it’s slight,” she confirmed. She quickly grabbed her sister’s hand and they closed their eyes, their minds melding to become one. They reached out over the crowd and gently brushed up against the court attendants. Some were quiet and guarded, some were broadcasting rude thoughts about either the complainants or another member of the audience, and some were off in their own train of thought, thinking things about other men and women that made the twins uncomfortable. Finally, partway through the room, was a man that seemed almost hollow. He had no emotion except for one…

…utter, unabashed, intense _hatred_.

‘ _Do we go in?_ ’ Astra debated. ‘ _I don’t want to get in trouble_ …’

‘ _Even when Papa got spitting-mad at that rude soldier from the Capital last week, he still didn’t feel like this_ ,’ Tara reasoned. ‘ _Let’s do it._ ’

Together the twins dove into the man’s consciousness, finding that there was no resistance whatsoever. When they played about, trying to build their mental defenses, there was at least a little bit of push, and there was even stuff to get around in Maglina’s mind when they tried to figure out what she wanted, but this mind was focused so horrifically on his horrible mission that they easily slipped in and discovered what it was: he wanted to _kill_ the Marquis and Marchioness and kidnap Lena to bring back to the Allfather Davros as a handmaiden.

“DALEK!” they screamed shrilly, eyes snapping open in terror. Sterling jerked awake and court came to a sudden halt, many of the attendants muttering in disapproval. The Marquis and Marchioness stood and stopped the girls from dashing into the crowd.

“What is the _matter_ with the two of you?!” their mother hissed.

“There’s a Dalek in the hall!” Astra panicked. “He wants to take Lena!”

“…and kill you! I can take him!” Tara growled, wiggling in an attempt to get free. Their parents glanced back at their eldest daughter, who seemed perfectly safe in her chair with their youngest in her arms.

“ _Girls_ , you are disrupting court,” their father scolded. “There are no Daleki soldiers within our borders, and those that breech the front haven’t seen the walls of Gallifrey since the Great Dalek War.”

Finally Tara was too much to hold on to and she broke his grip on her. She bolted into the main of the room and ran towards the rear door, jumping on the back of a man who was about to leave. Court broke out into chaos as she began hitting the man on the head, shouting as many rude words in the ceremonial tongue as she could muster. Before a guard could pry her off, she hit the right spot and his eye shattered, a false eye on the end of a stalk edging out.

Panic truly set in then. Lesser lords and untitled complainants were rushed towards the exit wings, soldiers attempting to calmly herd them while their comrades aided Tara. One pulled the girl off the converted Dalek and two more restrained the enemy, while the remainder protected the Marchioness and her other children. The Marquis, however, stormed forwards and drew the sword from his belt. He’d only worn it for ceremony, though it was the one he used in battle, and it had seen more blood than the man would ever admit.

“How _dare_ you defile my court with your presence,” he sneered. He placed the blade against the Daleki’s throat, silently threatening his life, as he brought his voice to a low snarl. “Did my daughters speak the truth?”

“I don’t know how, bUt thEY DID,” the Dalek replied. His voice began to warp as he spoke, acquiring the harsh tones heard beyond Kasterborous’s eastern border. “DEATH TO GALLIFREY. DEATH TO THE DOCTORS. LONG LIVE THE ALLFATHER. GLORY TO THE DALEK EMPIRE.”

“ _Question him_ ,” the Marquis ordered in the ceremonial tongue. Before the guards had a chance to move, the Dalek pressed his neck further onto the blade, pushing down to cut his own throat. Violet blood spattered all over the shocked Marquis, even as he backed away and dropped his sword. Within moments the enemy soldier was dead and the threat neutralized.

Wide-eyed, the Marquis turned his gaze towards Tara, who was still nearby in a guard’s arms. His lips parted as the shock set in and he fully realized what had happened. The guard released Tara and she ran to him, Astra appearing not long after he knelt down.

“What did you do…?” he asked shakily, pressing them close to his chest. Blood was blood, and they’d seen it on cut fingers and scraped limbs; the color made it not nearly as terrifying.

“We felt his hatred, Papa,” Astra explained. “He hated so much that we wanted to double-check. If it was someone angry at the people arguing, we would have apologized, but he wanted to _kill you and Mama_ and take Lena to his master! We had to do something!”

“…and I’m glad you did,” he choked. The Marquis held his daughters as his wife came over, observing as the guards that had been restraining the assassin were now searching his body.

“What does he have?” she asked, resting Maglina on her hip.

“A couple unlit smoke bombs, from the looks of things, as well as a sheathed knife, a bit of rope, and…” The guard pulled a small leather collar out of a cloak pocket, which she dropped in disgust. “Hopefully that was just for show.”

“Burn the body and effects, diffuse the bombs, and we’re keeping the knife,” the Marchioness decided. “I want that thing on my desk by the time luncheon is finished.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The guards began the cleanup and the Marchioness bent down, gently touching her husband’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, Johan… come to me.”

Wordlessly, he let go of their daughters and leaned far enough to rest his forehead on her shoulder, breaking into strained sobs as she stroked his curls. Lena came over, Sterling clutching her skirts, and took her baby sister from their mother so she could give their father her full attention. Calmly, the earlessa asked one of the spare guards to perform a search of the castle to make sure there were no more Daleki spies milling about, while requesting another accompany them up to the nursery. The Pink-Joneses were to be informed, and offered room in the family’s private wing until the grounds were deemed safe again. When the Marchioness silently nodded in approval, the guards began to do their duty, escorting and setting up a perimeter.

That night, after dinner in the nursery, Tara was gifted with the Daleki-made knife that nearly did her parents in. She put it on the shelf high above her bed, far beyond where Sterling could reach, and swore to wear it when she was older as a reminder of what the gift her and her sister shared brought them. When all four parents were in bed, with Lena in hers and Sterling, Maglina, and Oriana piled together in a mound of pillows and stuffed animals, Astra slipped out from under her covers and joined Tara. The twins laid facing one another, hands joined, as they talked into the blood-red night.

Their gift was dangerous, but their gift was also used for good that day. No one could ever try to tell them they were cursed, for they were heroes, and that was not a curse at all.


	22. Balls, Beaus, and the Bull's Unmentionables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter takes place when Johan is 70, Clara is 51, Lena is 20, and Astra is 18. The other kids are being babysat, except for Tara, who is off cutting bitches on the borders.

There was a general atmosphere of grace and excitement in the air as the Marquis and Marchioness rode with Lena and Astra towards the king’s castle in the capital. Presentations were that afternoon, as well as the first debutante ball of the social season, meaning that traffic was horrendous as not only there were more people attempting to head to the castle at the same time, but there were commoners wandering about attempting to catch glimpses of noble men and women alike.

“I’m so glad that I just had to show up at the King’s court at my leisure for a formal creation, not any of this,” Lena sighed dully. She stared out the window at the smallfolk who were attempting to see into the carriages and attempted to not grimace. “It’s like they’ve never seen nobility before—we’re here all the time and they never give a second thought then.”

“Yes, but there is a long tradition of powerful unions, and even dynasties, being founded at the National Ball, and you’d be surprised how the average man uses it to their advantage,” the Marchioness explained. “In fact, I do believe that there is a woman in Blackpoole who became interestingly wealthy through the betting halls by saying I would not become engaged, nor wed, because of, or during, the Season.”

“Blackpudlians are an interesting bunch,” the Marquis said idly. He too was looking out the window, fiddling with the end of his whiskers as he did so. “I’m just incredibly glad that not only is Tara very far away from here, but we only have to go through this once more—too much pomp and circumstance for my liking.”

“Too much pomp and circumstance involving your daughter being officially brought into the social world and before the eyes of young men, you mean,” his wife clarified. He bristled, knowing full-well she was correct.

“None of my daughters are cuts of meat, needing to be brought before customers to entice the highest bidder,” he groused. “The entire thing is _absurd_ ; Tara’s refusal of court life and a society marriage works in our favor, as much as people believe otherwise. I’d almost rather all my children have common marriages and risk losing inheritances and ending the line instead of this degrading spectacle.”

“The way I understand it, Papa, is that the National Ball is supposed to be more of a social mixer for the expanding families of the kingdom, not a livestock auction,” Astra mentioned in an attempt to diffuse her father’s ire. “It’s just how people from all over the kingdom form and keep friendships without needing to travel far from their own duties too often.” She fiddled with the bracelet around her wrist in an attempt to not fidget. “I might meet someone here I’d like to court, I might not; I don’t need to end the night on the arm of a man. At least I’m sure I’ll make friends amongst the other young ladies.”

“…and friends in the higher classes are something we are in desperate need of if we want to survive,” Lena scoffed. “The night will be complete if I can forge a friendly alliance yet still scare some Adiposian slime off my sister.”

“I wonder if Sterling and Seren could be presented, since they’re technically what people refer to as ‘lesser sons’ in our family,” Astra mused. “I know there isn’t a ball for young men to debut, since so few women inherit to make it worth the while, but could you imagine?”

“Well, there are plenty of serdaressas who inherit their father’s title, or their position is matriarchal, but you’re right in that they wouldn’t bother despite the hilarity,” Lena added with a chuckle. “Could you imagine Sterling being shown off at court? He’d _die_ as soon as he made eye contact with an heiress whose name didn’t rhyme with _Gloriana Wink_.”

“Lena, stop teasing your brother behind his back,” the Marchioness scolded.

“What? Would you rather me tease him to his face?”

“I’d rather you not tease him _period_ ,” she elaborated. The carriage stopped, having arrived at their destination. “The poor boy is going to have a difficult enough time as it is trying to get over his puppy love, and it won’t help him to have you hounding him the entire time.”

“Heh… _hounding_ him for _puppy love_ …” Lena chortled. Her mother kicked her shin just before the door opened, silencing her for the time being.

The Marquis exited the carriage first, helping his wife and daughters out of the carriage due to the fanciness of their dresses. While Lena and the Marchioness were in dresses of azure and crimson respectively, Astra was in a simple gown of shimmering gold. First-year debutantes were required to wear the color, with older ball-goers being relegated silver and the remaining women in a dress of their own choosing. Astra took her mother’s arm, whilst Lena took their father’s, and the four made their way into the castle.

Before long, the Marchioness and Astra were shunted off into a separate corridor to await their announcement. Lena and the Marquis went straight to the ballroom, taking delight in the fact that the punch was spiked so early in the afternoon. Eventually the King’s crier began to announce the names of the debutantes and their lady-sponsors, with the Marchioness and Astra being towards the midway point of the group. The two bowed before the King and were waved off, after which they immediately gravitated towards the punch.

“Is it decent?” the Marchioness scowled. Her husband handed her a cup with a smirk on his face.

“Just how you like it, my dear,” he said. She knocked it back and took another, apparently needing the beverage’s extra ingredient. Once that was half-gone, she turned back to their younger daughter and narrowed her eyes.

“Astra Maylis, don’t you _ever_ correct someone as high up as His Highness’s crier again while I am on this side of the earth, do you hear me?!” she hissed.

“Mama, my name is May- _lees_ , not May- _liss_ ,” Astra defended. “Besides, I think the King got a good chuckle out of seeing that pompous little windbag ruffled.”

“…and this is the _sensible one_ of our twins,” the Marchioness growled. She slammed down the remainder of her drink and put her glass down on the table. “I’m going to go over there, where I see some old acquaintances, and hope that the food better be served quickly, because we’re going to be in trouble if it’s not.”

“Have fun, Mama,” Lena grinned. She glanced back at her father and exhaled heavily as she saw the withdrawn expression on his face. “What’s the matter, Papa? Do I need to figure out where His Highness is hiding the brandy?”

“No, I just… don’t do well in these situations,” he muttered. “Thank you for coming, starlet; I need to be able to search for more than just your mama in the crowd.” He then turned towards Astra, raising an eyebrow. “Did you _really_ correct the crier?”

“I did, and I’ll do it again if I have to,” she replied firmly. “If every single professor at His Highness’s University can pronounce it correctly the first time—lowborn, noble, and middling alike—then that self-important imp can stand to take some lessons.” She graciously took a glass of not-spiked punch from a servant and sipped at it tentatively, scanning the crowd. “Oh hey, Lena, you see that one over there?”

“Oooh, where are we talking about?” the elder sister asked excitedly. They leaned in close together, whispering quietly in the ceremonial tongue.

“What’s going on?” the Marquis wondered. He tried to look in the direction they were, yet saw nothing of interest. “What are you looking at?”

“It’s not your _daughters_ that are the cows and cuts of meat being brought before the highest bidder, Papa,” Lena smirked. She paused, waiting for his brow to puzzle as he tried to figure out her words. “There is a fine offer over there talking with the Duke of Gelth. If that’s his son, then forget anything negative ever said about a Gelthi; I could stand being courted by that.”

The Marquis found the duke and his heart sank. That _was_ his son he was talking to, and his daughters were staring at the young man almost dreamily, inspecting his features from afar. Not wanting any part of it, the Marquis left in order to sulk against a wall in protest. The fact more fathers did not protest the Season and all that it entailed was something he found incredibly difficult to believe.

* * *

The remainder of the afternoon passed in a less-than-spectacular fashion. It was lavish, that was true, but to the Kasterborsian-Gallifreyan contingent it was merely a bunch of empty show and nothing more. Things did not begin to grow interesting until after dinner had been served and cleared, when it was time for dancing and gossiping.

“Come on, Lena—let’s go over there,” Astra suggested, motioning towards a group of first-year debutants. Their father approached them from behind, placing a hand on each daughter’s shoulder, stopping them in their tracks.

“Be _careful_ , starlets,” he warned. “I don’t want to embarrass you two and come to the rescue.”

“Our rescue or someone else’s?” Lena snarked. Her father frowned and allowed his daughters to go free, sighing sadly as he watched them go off.

“They’re growing up fast,” he said to no one in particular. The Marchioness came up to him and hooked their arms together.

“We need to let them go eventually,” she reminded him. “It’s how we acquire grandstarlets and the line continues on for at least one more generation.”

“I know, I know… it’s just… I hope they remember that a moon may wax and wane, but stars shine forever.”

“You idiot,” she chuckled, patting his arm. “How about you take your moon for a dance?”

“Light the way,” he nodded.

They held hands and went to the dance floor and began to twirl around the polished stone. Staring into one another’s eyes, they tried to focus on only the two of them. The orchestra changed songs and they continued dancing. It was difficult to manage, but they were able to not duck out and check on where Lena and Astra wandered off towards.

“I wonder how it would have been had we met during the Season,” the Marquis mused. He gazed down at his wife, greedily taking in all her splendor and grace. “Things would have been very different then.”

“That is an understatement,” she smirked. “Neither of us would have wanted to be there, and we probably would have caught one another attempting to sneak out early.”

“The price for keeping quiet being dinner the following night…”

“…or simply you keep quiet and Blackpoole would not embargo anything Kasterborsian in make or origin as long as I lived.”

“Milady drives a hard bargain.” The couple both giggled at that, knowing how silly they were being. Soon as the song ended they left the dance floor, finding themselves near their daughters quite on accident. The group of young people were all talking loudly in order to be heard over the orchestra, drinks in their hands and some clearly having more fun than others.

“So tell me, Lady Tara, are you choosing to be formally presented next year? The fact you are not also in gold interests me,” the Marquis and Marchioness heard a young man wonder. They gave one another wide-eyed stares and held in their laughter as they crept into the shadows, knowing what was coming.

“I did not _need_ to be presented, for one, and for two, I am not Lady Tara,” Lena replied icily. “I am Lady Lena Anthea, Earlessa of Gallifrey and Heir to the governance chair of Kasterborous. Then again, we wouldn’t have met before this, being that you _are_ only a _lesser_ son, correct?”

“I…uh…”

“Plus, also assuming that all highborn daughters need to be presented is a folly our sister loves to smash into bits,” Astra added. “My twin prefers the sword to the soiree and therefore is doing what she loves best: slicing the throats of Ogronish scouts before they have the chance to report back to their Daleki masters.”

“Ugh, that sounds _vile_ ,” someone else responded, this voice female. “War is such a nasty business—what _ever_ prompted her to choose such a life is beyond my comprehension.”

“Our baby sister was born; it really is an interesting story,” Lena said. “I’ve seen action since then, but that was a battle I will never forget.”

“A delicate rose like you, in _battle_?” another man scoffed. “I cannot see you crossing blows with an enemy soldier.”

“Roses are delicate, yes, but a thistle can be just as lovely to look upon, and even more aggressive in protecting itself and others around her.”

“Now that is something in which we disagree,” the first young man said. “Thistles are choking the crops in my father’s lands, not to mention the legs of livestock that are sliced near to ribbons because of them.”

“Our farms and grazing stock don’t seem to have those problems—maybe it’s a northern blessing,” Lena quipped.

“It’s merely the price we pay for allowing our dearest Tara to go to war,” Astra sighed wistfully, all the emotion in her voice thick and syrupy and false. “I’d rather it be the blood of a Sontarian staining the night sky than that of a wee lamb.”

That was the final straw and the young men they were talking to found reason to leave, and the other golden-clad debutante was dragged off by a friend, leaving the sisters to stand together in peace.

“We know you’re there,” Lena deadpanned, casually taking a sip of her drink. “Papa, Mama, you have been about as subtle as Seren the entire night.”

“We haven’t been that bad,” the Marchioness pouted as they emerged from their hiding place.

“How could we resist hearing the two of you tear apart those that assume?” the Marquis grinned. “That was marvelous; we really have to put you girls in social situations more often.”

“Papa, it’s bad enough I had to reschedule an exam to attend this… don’t make things worse by telling me I need to attend _more_ of them,” Astra muttered.

“Maybe Maglina’s ball as reinforcements, if we all make it that far,” the Marchioness said. “Would you like to head back to the house?”

“Please; I still have to study,” Astra replied.

“I’d rather attend Maggie’s ball and watch Sterling trip over himself to please Ori,” Lena added. “At least that will be fun to watch—everyone here is a total bore.”

“You don’t mean that,” the Marchioness warned. “Why, your future husband could be out in this crowd.”

“None of these men have the bollocks to even _think_ about achieving the standard I want in a potential consort. The whole lot is merely the same bullshit in different wrappings and that doesn’t impress me.”

While Astra and the Marquis giggled indiscreetly, the Marchioness grew furiously red in the face and dragged her eldest daughter from the ballroom by the elbow, though sorely tempted to do so by her ear, and the family left before another foul word could be said. Lena was always known for her frankness, even if it made her crude, yet that outburst definitely took the cake.


	23. Silver and Gold (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got this starlet-heavy chapter, then a Marquis/Marchioness fluff one in the works. Getting up update for this story is always pretty neat.
> 
> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 67, Daniel at 50, Clara at 48, Martha at 45, Lena at 17, Astra and Tara at 15, Keisha Jones(!) at 13, Sterling at an old 10 (his birthday’s next), Oriana turning 9, Maglina at an old 8, Seren at 4. This looks very screwed up to me, hence “rough ages”.

It was the dead of winter as Sterling shuffled his way through knee-high snow to the glasshouses. His feet felt frozen solid by the time he finally made it to his destination, closing the door quickly as to not upset the plants.

“It’s a rare treat to see you here, young master,” the head gardener’s assistant chuckled as she saw the boy. “What can I do for you?”

“I have a problem,” Sterling said. He sat down in the chair the assistant offered him and frowned. “You know Ori, right?”

“Lady Oriana Pink? Why of course I do,” she replied. A grin spread across her face that nearly gave away her amusement. “Isn’t it her birthday tomorrow?”

“It is, and I want to get her an adult gift on my own, because I’m out of the nursery, but no one I talk to can give me a good answer,” he complained.

“Well, who _have_ you talked to?”

“I asked the cook first, thinking about maybe some biscuits or brownies, but she said no. Then I asked one of the footmen, and he didn’t know anything that was any good. The butler only had ideas that involve asking Mama and Papa for more spending money, which I don’t want to do, and the maids only giggled at me. What do you think about flowers? Are flowers a good present for Ori?”

“Hmm… I think so,” the assistant nodded. “Do you know what sort of flowers you want to give her? Different flowers have different meanings.”

“That’s what Papa says!” he gasped, a switch flipping in his brain. “Then it must be true! What’s a gladiola mean?!”

“ _Honor_ , amongst other things,” she said. “Why do you ask? That’s very specific.”

“Ori’s middle name is _Adeola_ ; I heard it when Sir Daniel was lecturing us last month. They’re related names, right?”

“No, not exactly,” the assistant chuckled. “If I recall correctly, Lady Coal-on-the-Hill’s cousin died in battle with Cybera a few months before her daughter was born. I think that was who she was named after. Not every girl has a flower as their second name like your sisters.”

“Oh… okay…” Sterling thought for a moment, taking the information in. “Is it still okay to give her those?”

“I don’t see why not. Come—let’s go take a look at what we have in bloom right now.” She allowed Sterling to take her hand and she led him over to another glasshouse, where most of the flowers were open and blossoming. “Here we go. Do you see anything you like?”

“Those!” he said, eyes going wide as he pointed. There was a cluster of brilliantly-pink flowers, precisely the kind he wanted. “Can I have those, please?”

“I think I can do you even better,” the assistant said. “Do you want to give her the flowers today or tomorrow?”

“Today would be alright, if you have them.”

“Then one adult bouquet of gladiolas coming right up.” She took a small knife from her pocket and began to cut some stalks from their bases. Gathering them into a bunch, she arranged them neatly before wrapping them up in paper and handing it to the boy. “How do these look?”

“Really pretty,” Sterling agreed. The assistant had given him not only the ones he requested, but flowers that were also a deep golden color. “Why do those look different?”

“It’s a hybrid—that’s how we got the color,” she explained. “Some flowers don’t come in the colors we want them to naturally, so in order to achieve the desired colors, we mix them with other flowers. It’s not easy, but it works if you put in a lot of effort.”

“Wow… thank you, ma’am!” Sterling gave the assistant a hug, careful not to crush the bouquet, and scuttled out the door. The assistant smirked as she watched the boy wade his way through the snow, protectively shielding the flowers from the cold in his cape. Her boss was going to have a fun time hearing about this.

* * *

Sterling stared at the door to Sir Daniel’s cottage, chewing his bottom lip in indecision. The singular person in his family he had told about liking Oriana was his father and that had been a disaster. Not only was he barred from betrothal, but from courting as well. While his father had him helping with papers that day, he had explained many, many nuances of marital law when it came to those born into positions of authority compared to those who weren’t, agreeing how very little of it seemed fair, though it was partial payment for their inherited power. What the love-struck boy had decided that day, however, was just because he wasn’t guaranteed that his feelings would get, let alone could be, returned, did not mean he should prevent himself from being kind.

He rapped sharply on the wooden door, hoping for the best. The physician was the one who answered, looking down at him with a smile on her face.

“Well, now this is a surprise,” she said, opening the door. “Come on in, Sterling. Do your parents know you’re out here? What about Daniel?”

“No—Mama and Papa are with Seren and I don’t want to bother Sir Daniel during Lena and Astra’s lessons,” he replied. “Lady Martha, is Ori here? I want to give her these.”

“Hold on just a moment,” the physician said kindly. She called up the stairs for her daughter and offered her young guest some tea. He politely declined, waiting for Oriana to come thundering down the stairs, Maglina close behind.

“Sterling! I thought you said you couldn’t play today!” Oriana marveled. She looked curiously at the bundle of paper in his arms. “What’s that?”

“It’s for you. Happy birthday, Ori,” he said, blush spreading across his face at an alarming speed. Once the bouquet was in her arms, Sterling bit his thumbnail as he watched her uncover the flowers. Eyes going wide, she was struck speechless.

“Wow! Gold and pink! Like your name!” Maglina said. “That’s really neat!”

“They’re gladiolas, which is also like your name,” he added. His eyes dropped to the floor, nervous beyond belief. “I know it’s not _exactly_ like your name, but…”

“They’re pretty Sterling! Thank you!” Oriana said, cutting him off. She kissed him on the cheek and held up the bouquet towards her mother. “Mum, can you put these in water? I don’t want them to die.”

“Don’t worry; I know how to make these keep for at least a couple weeks,” the physician nodded. She took the flowers and laid them down on the table. “Why don’t the three of you go play? After bringing such a thoughtful gift, I think it’d be nice to let Sterling stay for a while.”

“Yeah! Come on Sterling! Let’s go!” Maglina cheered. She and Oriana each took one of his hands and pulled him along as they went back up the stairs. The boy was just barely able to kick off his boots before being tugged out of the kitchen and was only allowed to shed his cape once he was in his friend’s bedroom. Toys were scattered everywhere, seemingly discarded almost as quickly as they had been played with.

“So, um, what were you playing?” he asked awkwardly.

“Well, we were playing Knights, but I guess now we can play something different now that you’re here,” Oriana said. She began to pick up some dolls that were laying at the foot of her bed, pondering what faerie story to enact now that their numbers had risen. “Oh! We can play Genovefa and Eskandar! Do you want to be Eskandar or King Volmar?”

“Umm…” Blush began to rush to his face, unsure if he wanted to claim the role of the dashing, rogue swordsman for himself.

“I’m Volmar! I’m Volmar! I want to do the voice!” Maglina gasped, jumping up and down. She threw open the chest in the corner of the room and began to dig for their play-costumes.

“Okay,” Sterling said. He _tried_ to sound defeated, he really did, but his heart couldn’t help but flutter in joy. “Do we play in here? It’s a bit small for the fight for Genovefa’s honor.”

“Ah, we know how it goes,” Maglina scoffed. She pulled a beaten wooden crown out of the chest and put it on her head. Scrunching her nose into a scowl, she picked up the small wooden walking stick that sat at the side of the door, bringing her voice to an odd pitch. “My NaMe Is KiNg VoLmAr! I aM tHe GOBLIN KING! I sEaRcH fOr A wIfE tO cAlL mY oWn! WaIt A mOmEnT! WhO iS tHaT fAiR mAiDeN yOnDeR?”

“I am Genovefa, the finest sword in all the land!” Oriana announced, grabbing her practice sword and standing atop her bed. “No one, man or woman, can defeat me in battle!”

“I’d like to challenge that!” Sterling countered. He reached for a bat and he and Oriana crossed weapons. She jumped down to the floor and they fake-sparred for a moment, dropping sword and bat at the same time in pretend agony. “It is a draw, milady; you tell the truth.”

“No—I am no longer the finest sword in all the land, for now we share that title,” Oriana said. “What is your name, good sir?”

“Eskander, milady. I am just a simple soldier, over-practiced at the sword and too bold for my place.”

Oriana dropped down to her knees and looked up at Sterling, holding out her hands. “Then, Eskander, become more than a simple soldier and meet me on the wedding platform, where we will join as one and the title of the greatest sword no longer need fighting over.”

“It will be my honor,” he replied. Helping her to her feet, they leaned in to kiss, only for Oriana to freeze in place before their lips could touch. “What sorcery is this?! She has turned to stone!”

“ThAt WoUlD bE mY dOiNg!” Maglina cackled. “I hAvE dEfEaTeD tHe MiGhTy GeNoVeFa! NoW sHe HaS nO cHoIcE bUt To BeCoMe My WiFe!”

“You have not yet defeated the best sword in the land, for that is the title her and I share,” Sterling recited. “Fight me fair, Goblin King, and the wrath of both my wife and me shall be your downfall.”

“ThEn I sHaLl NoT fIgHt FaIr!” Maglina said. She moved the hand not holding the walking stick and pretended to shoot a spell towards Sterling. He dodged and picked up his bat, miming parries as his sister continued her imaginary sorcery. Oriana began to wobble in place as the fight wore on, her only saving grace coming from her mother knocking on the door.

“Kids? I hate to break it up, but Lord Johan and Lady Clara just sent a messenger,” the physician said as she opened the door. Looking at the scene before her, she chuckled as she recognized the story. “Genovefa and Eskander?”

“Yeah—do Papa and Mama want us back at the castle?” Maglina asked.

“They say it’s time for your lessons in the ceremonial tongue,” the physician replied, ushering out her guests. “Run along now; we’ll see you tomorrow for Oriana’s party.”

“…but _Mum_!” her daughter whined, trying her best to not move. “I’m still stone!”

“Oh yeah,” Sterling muttered. He tapped Maglina softly on the head, at which she dramatically collapsed, and then went over to Oriana and kissed her lips. “The Lady Genovefa is stone no longer. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Maggie; bye Sterling! Thanks again for the flowers,” Oriana said, waving at her friends. Her mother disappeared as she brought their guests to the door, coming back to find her cleaning up her toys.

“Did you have a fun time playing?” the physician asked, picking up a doll and placing it on a shelf.

“Yeah, I think we did,” Oriana replied. “I like playing with Maggie, but we can do so much more when Sterling comes over too.” She put some blocks that had formerly been a fortress in the chest at the end of her bed and frowned in thought. “Mum?”

“Yes?”

“Sterling doesn’t come over as much as he used to—do you think I should invite him to the next sleepover Maggie and I have? He seems a bit lonely.”

“Well…” her mother began. She sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for her daughter to climb up next to her. “You and Sterling at about the age when boys and girls usually find different things to do that don’t involve the other. That doesn’t necessarily make him lonely or sad; it just means he’s growing up.”

“Then growing up is dumb,” Oriana pouted. “If it means my friends don’t like me anymore, I don’t want to grow up _ever_.”

“I don’t think Sterling would come over and bring you flowers if he didn’t like you anymore,” the physician noted. She wrapped one arm around the girl, hugging her tight. “I think as you get older, you’ll be surprised at how much you stay friends. He’s a good boy and I think he’ll grow up to be a decent man.”

“…as long as he doesn’t end up like King Volmar from the story,” the girl said. “He’s kind of a jerk.”

“Yeah, King Volmar is a pretty big jerk,” her mother laughed. “If anything, I think he’d end up being like Emeka the Noble and be there for you no matter what.”

“…but Emeka the Noble died serving his liege lady!” Oriana gasped.

“There are other ways to show your friendship than by dying,” the physician said, amazed they were even having the conversation. “He will likely be your Emeka by following you no matter what. Just because he was born here in Gallifrey doesn’t mean he’ll always remain here.”

“Oh… okay…” the girl mused. “Emeka did go a long way to serve Lady Rudo. Won’t Lena need his help with the march? Lady Clara says that Maggie has many siblings so that they can all help each other when they’re older.”

“Maglina is one of _six_ children—something tells me that there won’t be any shortage of help, even if Lena only wants her siblings as her advisors.”

“Maybe, if Lena keeps Astra and Tara around to help her, then that would mean both Maggie _and_ Sterling could come to Coal-on-the-Hill and stay there!”

“…and what about Seren?” the physician chuckled.

“Seren barely wants to leave Lady Clara’s side—he’s gonna be the one staying with her and Lord Johan when they’re retired and let Lena run the march.”

“He might, he might not… we don’t know anything yet.” An odd thought crossed the mother’s mind and she pondered for a moment.

“Mum…? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” the physician lied. She kissed her daughter on the forehead and stood, going towards the door. “Finish cleaning up and come downstairs to help me in the kitchen, alright?”

“Okay, Mum,” Oriana agreed. She did as she was told, not noticing the look of worry that spread across her mother’s face.

* * *

The following day in the Pink-Jones household was filled with excitement from the moment the youngest member woke up. Oriana was thrilled as she had her birthday breakfast with both her parents, something that didn’t always happen due to the nature of her mother’s career, and by the time they were done, one of the assistant cooks from the castle and a maid arrived to help prepare for the party the best they could. Having lived with and without household help, the Lady Coal-on-the-Hill was thrilled to have the extra sets of hands that could fully reach over tables and counters, while her lord husband, having grown up with very little, tried to be at-ease while people other than him and his family worked about in the house.

Noon did eventually come and, to the tutor’s relief, so did the guests. The Marquis and Marchioness and their children came, as well as Martha’s brother Leo, with his daughter Keisha. While Lena and Astra volunteered to help the cook, Tara started bickering with the Jones two years her junior, and the Marquis and Baron (aided by his brother-in-law) attempted to corral the younger children with minimal success.

“It’s probably a good thing that we kept the party small,” the physician smirked, sitting down next to the Marchioness. The friends clinked their drinks together as they watched the fray from the couch, laughing at their husbands’ futile efforts.

“Wow, it is a good thing Keisha goes to the College and not the Academy,” the Marchioness noted. Her attention was caught by the verbal sniping occurring in the corner. “I can’t imagine needing to march Tara down to your brother’s purely to apologize for getting into schoolyard fights with Keisha.”

“My niece is a _Jones_ —we’re more than capable of dealing with some huffy _lady_ who thinks she knows better because she lives in the castle.” The baroness paused for a moment before the two women burst into laughter. The girls would likely get along one day, though _that particular day_ was stretching it. They continued watching the men try to keep the children calm. “Hey Clara?”

“Yes, Martha?”

“You want to share grandkids, right?”

“Of course.” She glanced over where Sterling was, nervously picking at his fingers while he watched Oriana and Maglina run circles around the latter’s uncle. “Is something the matter?”

“Sterling came over to give Oriana flowers, but was all jittery as he did so,” the physician explained. “Later on I tried telling her that he’s only acting odd because he’s growing up and I remembered: isn’t your father still looking around for an heir?”

“ _Stars_ ,” the Marchioness hissed. “Papa needs a boy to succeed him and if Sterling does…”

“…he is automatically forbidden from marrying my daughter thanks to inheritance laws,” the physician finished. “Seren?”

“I was never that thrilled with the idea of Linda getting _Sterling_ , but my **_baby_**?!” She sighed at the sight of Seren scaling her husband’s back via his cape, wishing her youngest would stay that small forever. “I can’t let that witch of a woman take and turn my Seren against me.”

“Maybe not against you, if you and Johan keep in mind to teach him friend from foe early, like you did Lena.”

“What about me?” Lena wondered, butting into the conversation. She gave the two women small plates of food, which they thankfully took.

“None of your business,” her mother frowned. The teen shook her head and turned to leave, but a nearby vase caught her eye.

“Those are gorgeous, Lady Martha,” Lena said, acknowledging the flower arrangement. “Did you get these for Ori?”

“No, Sterling did,” she smirked. Lena’s thick brows arched in surprise, turning her gaze towards her brother.

“Sterling? The one that can barely handle _talking_ in front of her?”

“ _Lena!_ ”

“I’m not _blind_ , Mama—he’s been stumbling around her for ages now,” Lena shrugged. “It’s a good thing Ori and Maggie are the blind ones, or I don’t know what would happen.”

“Not a word,” the Marchioness warned. Lena raised her hands in surrender and walked away, leaving her mother and the baroness to themselves.

“Clara, I think things just became plenty more complicated than they already were,” the physician noted. She took a cracker from her plate and chewed on it idly. “What do you think she’ll do?”

“Knowing Lena? What’s good for her… which coincidentally enough is what I say,” the Marchioness said. “Don’t worry Martha; this means we have more people on our side.”


	24. The Last First Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough ages for this chapter are as follows: Johan at 65, Clara at 46, Lena at 15, Sterling at 9, Maglina at 7, and Seren nearing 3. Astra and Tara are 13, but neither get speaking roles.

“Mama, Mama, time to work!” Seren giggled, climbing up on the bed. He jumped on the mattress, waking up his parents from their nap. The Marchioness trapped the toddler in her arms and brought him in close for a hug and kiss.

“Oh, there’s my big boy,” she cooed, rubbing their noses together. Her husband, however, stretched languidly as he stood and frowned.

“Clara, we really need to cut Seren’s hair and start putting him in trousers,” he said. He gestured at their son, who was a wild mop of brown curls stuffed into a plain green dress. “I know we didn’t breech Sterling until he was nearly four, but Seren _looks_ _like a girl_.”

“I’m a boy! Not a girl!” the toddler gasped. He looked up at his mother in horror. “I’m not a Tara!”

“No, thank _goodness_ you’re not Tara; she’d never forgive us,” she replied. The Marchioness stared at her son, pondering what to do. “Seren, would you like to start wearing trousers every day like Sterling and Papa? You don’t have to, but Papa thinks it’s about time.”

“No more dresses?!” he exclaimed. “Really?!”

“Well, you haven’t needed a nappy for a long while, so I say it’s about time you start getting used to breeches,” the Marquis nodded. “We can set up appointments for the tailor and the hairdresser for tomorrow.”

“Tailor, yes; the hairdresser, no,” the Marchioness replied, pulling her youngest back towards her chest. “His hair is so _soft_ and if we cut it, it’ll be ruined.” She stroked the boy’s curls, which bounced and sprung up as they were played with.

“Clara, you let me cut Sterling’s hair when he was one…”

“…and it hasn’t been the same since,” she complained. She then switched to the ceremonial tongue, keeping the conversation private. “ _Go ahead and breech him, but cut his hair before I’m ready and so help me you’ll be spending half a year on the front for no reason at all, and you’ll do so **willingly** , just so that you can have some peace_.”

The Marquis’s whiskers twitched as he stood there in defeat. He knew flat-out arguing with his wife at this point would be ruinous, so he had to play things carefully. “ _You were the one worried about his name—our Seren doesn’t need an identity crisis at three… that’s what age thirteen is for._ ”

“ _Then you should have thought of that before you named him in the womb…_ ”

“Mama, Papa, why you use quarrel-words?” Seren wondered. “You talk fast. I wanna know!”

“You will know one day, but for now, you need to go and see if your brother and sister have woken from their nap,” the Marchioness said.

“Oh, yeah!” the boy gasped. He then bounded towards the nursery, shouting, “Maggie! Sterling! No more sleepings!”

Soon as Seren was in the nursery, the Marchioness turned her attention back towards her husband. “Let me have this, Johan.”

“Clara, it’s not like you’ve been _denied_ much when it comes to the children over the years,” he retorted. “This is so unlike you.”

“To think I thought I’d have you on my side when it came to this!”

“What side is that? The one where we keep our youngest son as a baby his entire life? I don’t like him growing up either, but I thought you got it all out of your system with Maglina.”

“We are lucky to have our Seren, which should be enough reason to let me be,” she snapped. It was then that Seren and Maglina came in from the nursery, followed close behind by a tired Sterling.

“It’s a free day, so can’t I sleep for longer?” the older boy asked grumpily.

“No, it’s time to go back to work,” the Marchioness said. She went and took both Sterling and Maglina by the hand and led them out of the room, leaving the Marquis to pick up Seren and place him on his shoulders.

“Papa,” the little boy wondered, “will trousers make me look like a big boy?”

“I bet they will,” the Marquis replied.

“Not too big,” Seren hoped. “I still littlest, right Papa?”

“You are the youngest no matter what, yes,” he said. It made him worry a bit, knowing his son had _some_ attachment to his place in line when it came to his siblings, though with any luck it would not affect how he saw himself in the great picture of things.

* * *

Nearly a week later and Seren’s new clothes arrived. It was first thing in the morning, when the maids came in to clean while their employers were in their office, and when the Marquis and Marchioness retired for luncheon, changing their youngest into his first set of trousers was top priority after they ate.

“How does it feel, starlet?” the Marquis wondered. Seren was standing in stocking feet on the bed, wiggling around to test his new garments.

“Kinda tight by my wee,” the boy decided, attempting to pull at the crotch. “Why trousers come close to my wee?”

“It’s merely something to get used to,” his father chuckled. “Your pants come close, don’t they?”

“Yeah, but…” Seren flopped down on his back and began kicking his legs in the air. “Too tight!”

“Nonsense; they’re perfectly fine,” the Marchioness said. She sat down on the bed and pulled him close to her, placing him in her lap. “Now all you need is to be big enough for long trousers.”

“Still too tight,” he pouted. He sat sourly as his mother ran her fingers through his hair, pulling it back to tie into a ribbon. “Mama?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“When I old enough to have _hair_ like Sterling and Papa? My hairs still like Tara, and I’m not a Tara.”

“This is the fashion in the capital,” the Marchioness cooed, smoothing out his curls. She glared at her husband from underneath her lashes and finished taming their youngest’s mane. “I think it looks good on you. Papa? What do you think?”

“Papa is not allowed to have an opinion on this matter,” the Marquis replied cautiously. Seren whimpered and slumped, allowing himself to slip down to the floor.

“I not a Tara,” he muttered. His father plucked him from the floor and held him, rubbing his back soothingly.

“You see?” the Marquis scowled. “He wants his hair cut.”

“…but as long as my children are still _children_ , they are to do as their Mama says,” the Marchioness snapped.

“… _but they have to listen to Papa as well! Why are we fighting on something as silly as Seren’s hair?!_ ”

“… _because he’s **it** , Johan!_” Tears welled in her eyes as she furrowed her brows, hoping it would help -make her point. “ _Seren is our last child! Let me do this one thing!_ ”

“ _Lena is fifteen—we will have grandstarlets soon enough and no one will **dare** question Grandmamma. Let playing with our **daughters’** hair suffice for now_.”

“You don’t get it!” She huffed and stormed out of the room, leaving her husband and son to themselves. Seren’s lower lip wibbled, dangerously close to a full-on sob, and glanced up at his father.

“Why Mama cross?” he wondered. “Why she cry?”

“Your mama is dealing with something all mamas learn to deal with at one point or another,” the Marquis replied. He kissed his son’s forehead and game him a comforting smile. “Mama merely isn’t used to things not going her way. She’ll be fine.”

“But Mama is Doctor,” Seren stated. “People listen to Doctor! Why no one listen to Doctor?”

“You’ll understand one day,” his father said. He gently gave him another kiss, this one on the side of the head, and carried him out of the room.

They reported down to the governance hall, where the Marchioness was sitting, waiting with eyes that were red-rimmed and slightly puffy. Seren crawled into his mother’s lap and snuggled against her chest. She held him close and twirled the ends of his hair while she listened to grievances alongside her husband and fellow Doctor. The Marquis, however, felt as though he was the only one truly there, that his wife was allowing her judgement to be clouded by sentimentalism that she’d find preposterous had it been anyone else, him included. He would make her see how silly she was being, though how he could was the question.

* * *

The days were long as the feud between the Marquis and Marchioness over their youngest’s hair dragged on and on. The elder three of their children knew it was a terrible one, as they seemed to refuse to speak to one another unless absolutely necessary. They did not go as far as communicating through the children at the dinner table, yet it did seem as if there were plenty more notes to be delivered throughout the daytime as they had a break from their lessons while their tutor was tending to his baronial duties in Coal-on-the-Hill.

Finally, the day came when the hairdresser was to come and the family was to receive their regular trims. The Marquis and Marchioness were still at-odds when it came to the topic of Seren’s hair.

“We are going to let Seren _attend_ , as usual, but he is not going to get his hair cut,” she argued from behind her desk in the family’s private study. “Maybe next time, but not this.”

“He _needs_ to get his hair cut; he’s had some time to adjust to the trousers, so the hair shouldn’t be a problem at this rate,” he replied. He was pacing around the room, attempting to find reason with the Marchioness’s logic. “Our boy won’t be a boy forever, and this behavior will only be detrimental.”

“He will be perfectly fine,” she said. “He wants to be like his brother anyhow—Seren will emulate Sterling whether his hair is long or short.”

“The boy has _repeatedly_ asked whether or not he gets to have his hair cut today. He wants it cut, so what’s the harm in that? It can always grow back if he doesn’t like it.”

“…but _I_ don’t like it short, is the problem.”

“…and we’re back to this again.” The Marquis tried massaging his temples in order to make the pressure in his head subside. “You are so incredibly _stubborn_ about this it’s nearly like I’m talking to some pudding-brained enforcer of the King’s whose only task is to make my life irritating.”

“Then maybe I should invite His Highness for dinner then?” she quipped, standing so that she could meet her husband face-to-face. Despite her shorter stature, she still commanded all the authority he did with his height-related advantage. “Maybe we can insist he bring over his sons to court our daughters and hold a ball that even Tara must attend?”

“Will you please stop being so _unreasonable_?!”

“Who’s being unreasonable, Papa?”

They both stood there and snapped their attention towards the study door, eyes wide at what was before them. There was Lena with Seren on her hip, except the little boy’s hair was cut close and short. He beamed happily at them, while his sister immediately caught on to the tension.

“Mama! Papa! I look like Sterling now!” Seren declared happily. He wriggled until Lena put him down and he bounced his way over to their parents. “See? See? I’m a _real_ big boy now! I have hairs like Sterling!”

“Lena Anthea, what happened with your brother’s hair…?” the Marchioness asked, attempting to keep her irritation contained. “You _knew_ we were discussing the correct time to cut it.”

“…and I thought it was an argument on whether to call the hairdresser early or wait until today…?” the teen grimaced. “He just seemed so excited and…” She saw the anger spread across her mother’s face and how pleased her father looked and took a step back. “I should go now, shouldn’t I?” Without a verbal reply, she backed into the corridor and scurried off.

“ _I won_ ,” the Marquis beamed in the ceremonial tongue. He picked up Seren and ran a hand through the toddler’s hair. “You do look very grown-up, starlet.”

“Grown enough for _long trousers_?” Seren asked in trepidation. “Papa, your trousers seem uncomfy—are they too tight on your wee too?”

“Your mama makes me wear them a little tighter than most; you get used to it.”

“Then I _never_ used to it.” The boy nodded decidedly—comfort over style was ruled the toddler’s mind, and his father was generally alright with that. Seren reached out his arms towards his mother, a frown on his face. “Mama, hold please.”

“Alright,” the Marchioness said quietly. She took their son and held him in her arms, bouncing him gently as she kept her grip firm. Putting her cheek against his hair, she resisted crying as she felt the freshly shorn ends scratch against her face.

“Mama?”

“Yes, Seren?”

“I big boy now, but I your baby always, right?”

“Yes, starlet,” the Marquis replied. He wrapped one arm around his wife’s shoulders, with the other one touching the toddler’s back. “You are always our baby, no matter how grown you are.”

“Good—can we take a nap now? I’m tired.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea. How about it, Mama?”

The Marchioness glanced up at her husband and saw the look in his eyes. He was not admonishing, nor mocking, but sympathetic and caring. Kissing her forehead, he let her know how it was he felt.

‘ _My Moon and Evening Star, I will ensure your happiness shall flourish, even if it risks making one of you sad before the end_.’

The three then retired, going to the nursery where they laid in the cushions piled in the corner. Seren remained snuggled in his mother’s embrace, while his father held the both of them. The Marquis stroked the Marchioness’s hair and murmured love ballads in her ear, assuring he thought no less of her for anything that had passed between them, both said and unsaid.

It was always an honor to be her husband and the father of her children, even if she thought he didn’t always show that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The tradition of “breeching” boys used to be a big thing back before clothing was relatively cheap and inexpensive to make in Europe/European-influenced areas, when the aristocracy and nobility were flourishing. All children, boys or girls, were put in dresses until about the age of four, due to how quickly children of that age grow, as well as general lack of early potty training because plumbing was either awful or nonexistent. While they were in dresses, boys would often have long hair, done in curls, and would be completely indistinguishable from their sisters to a modern individual, but there were still ways to tell them apart, at least in contemporary paintings (which I’ve never cared to remember, because wiki’s always there to help me). The breeching of a young boy, usually around four or five, marked both the start of schooling for the lad as well as his father taking a more active role in raising him. In SASBB, however, we know that’s major bullshit since Johan and Clara both are highly involved in the raising of their children and genuinely split duties, so it’s more the Marquis and Marchioness following societal clothing norms than anything else. Breeching was also generally bullshit due to the fact boys then [mostly] got shorts instead of long trousers, also because they’re still growing and shorts hid the fact that omg the kid sprouted six inches the past year. Getting long trousers was a big thing too, because then you were no longer a boy, but a man, even if you were sixteen and nowhere near the end of your growth spurts.
> 
> ALSO: baby hair, like baby skin, is often regarded as super-soft and a pinnacle of luxuriousness. All first haircuts are important, but some are convinced that if they cut their child’s hair then it will be different for always and forever. Mainly it’s that the child, usually a boy, never keeps their hair that long again, for whatever reason that may be, so there’s less hair for their mother to play with. Guys keeping their hair longer isn’t a bad thing, neither in the real world or in this fic verse, but considering Seren’s position as the youngest of a large brood [by far] and an individual with a cross-gender name, the Marquis merely wants his child to have a firm grounding in one thing first before letting him think about anything else (coughTara’smilitarycareercough).


	25. Tara's Common Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter involves Academy Cadet Petra Sutton, an OC that I introduced in what ended up being chapter twelve of the prompt fills. If you haven’t read it, I encourage you to check it out. If not, I did my best to write this chapter so that reading said prompt is not necessary. This one is also OC-heavy–just warning. I've got some more general stuff coming.
> 
> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 68, Clara at 49, Astra/Tara/Petra at 16, and Seren at 5; also hanging around is 18yo Lena, 12yo Sterling, and 10yo Maglina.

Creeping carefully, Tara held her skirts in one hand and her classmate’s fingers in the other, bringing her into the corridor. The night was red and bright as the teens moved, their feet quickly bringing them to a circular stone stairwell.

“Follow this down as far as it will go; it will open out into a servants’ hall, and from there you take the first door to your right—that should bring you to the work entrance,” Tara said. She bent down and kissed her classmate’s lips, quick and fleeting. “See you at school, Petra.”

“See you then; I’m gonna kick your skinny, pasty arse in the fencing exam, just wait,” she grinned. After another kiss and a grab at her rear, Petra vanished into the passageway. It had been a risk staying so long, whether it was the weekend or not, and the teens were far from ready to pay the price just yet.

Staring out the window, Tara fixed her eyes on the servants’ entrance to the castle until she saw Petra safely outside, golden hair shimmering in the moonlight. She allowed herself a smile and began to walk back to her family’s private wing. It was long past when all the others were in bed, making it so that she relaxed once she was in the corridor and approaching her bedchamber. She nearly shouted as she opened her door, however, as she saw Astra—already in her night things and on the settee in the sitting area—arms folded crossly while she watched her sister slink in.

“…and…?” Tara hissed as she closed the door behind her. “What are you here to scold me about this time?”

“You have not told our parents, have you?” Astra asked, though she knew the answer.

“Why should I? It’s not like they’d approve or anything,” Tara snapped. She pulled a nightdress out of her wardrobe and went behind her changing screen, fuming. “I’d just get taken out of the Academy, or banned from seeing her, and what good would those do? Petra could lose her job cleaning the training hall to boot! I mean, I’m only dating a part-time maid who won’t even be here very long because not only is she training for the military, but her father is in it and won’t stay after term’s end!” She tossed her shoes in frustration, each flying to the other side of the room.

“You are so _stubborn_ ,” Astra scolded. “This is _Kasterborous_ —we don’t have the time or resources to get choosy when it comes to things like who the family soldier is dating, because as long as that soldier is doing her best, things should be fine.”

“…but they’re going to have a fit, I just _know it_ ,” Tara insisted. She came out from behind the changing screen in her nightdress, carefully laying her clothes from the day on a chair so that a maid could assess whether the dress needed washing in the morning. Going to her bed, she burrowed under the covers and attempted to ignore her twin’s presence, which failed when she was joined in her fabric cocoon.

“This isn’t a novel, Tara,” Astra frowned. “We read tales of forbidden love and hear horror stories of this scandal and that, but you’d be surprised if you merely _talked_ with our parents.”

“Not talking has worked so far; I don’t want to ruin it now.” Tara rolled over, attempting to signal that the conversation was over.

“You’ll ruin it if you keep important things like this behind their backs.” Astra hugged her sister from behind and initiated the mental contact. ‘ _You’re in **love** —they’ll want to know when their daughter is in love_.’

‘ _Their daughter is in love with another woman, when that’s one of the last things a society marriage wants_.’

‘ _I’m the one who will marry and have to worry about society being fickle about who ends up in my bed, not you. If Lena rises to the governance chair without an heir of her own, it’s **me** that becomes earlessa, so you needn’t, nor shouldn’t, worry._ ’

‘ _Thank the stars above you were the one that popped out of Mama first and not me_.’ Tara held her sister’s hand and squeezed it. ‘ _I shouldn’t make you keep such secrets_.’

‘ _Then **don’t** and talk with Mama and Papa. You are making things worse than they need to be—they’ve already met her many times when you’d merely have her over to study._ ’

Tara mumbled sourly and blocked off her mind. Something in her gut told her that her sister was the one living in a novel, one that she wasn’t sure she knew the ending to.

* * *

The following day at the Academy, Tara and Petra were sitting in the gymnasium, snuggling under the stacked benches and watching a class of younger students being put through an obstacle course. There was no one within an earshot, allowing the teens to talk.

“Astra caught me last night after I saw you out,” Tara confessed to her girlfriend.

“What did she say? She’s usually so nice…”

“I think she might threaten to tell Mama and Papa soon.” She put her nose in Petra’s hair and breathed in, the scent of oranges calming her. “It’s scaring me—I want us to break up on our terms, not theirs.”

“Why are you so afraid of your parents figuring us out?” Petra wondered. “It’s not like women being with other women is a _bad_ thing…”

“It’s not if you’re base or middling born, but highborn people who love both genders don’t always have that luxury,” Tara said sadly. “My parents only know that you’re a friend so far, but not to the point where we’re at. It’s true that they’re letting me make my own way as a soldier, though I don’t know if they want me to otherwise live by a lady’s rules so that Lena can use my hand in marriage as a political play. I’ve never really asked them their plans about those things.”

“…then ask them.” Petra stretched her neck up and gently kissed her chin. “Better late than never.”

“Considering last week, it’s already too late unless I somehow hide a vial of blood on my person for my wedding night.” She hid her face in her hands and whimpered. “I’m _ruined_ and I’ve ruined my whole family while at it—people like us, who want more choice with who we love, with the misfortune of being highborn play chaste lords and ladies until after they’ve been shoved off on someone society sees acceptable.”

“If you need to, come with me and my parents when we leave for Croydon at term’s end,” Petra offered. “We don’t have that long in school yet—only a year and a half—and you can enlist with me in the King’s Guard. With your grades, there’s no way they’d turn down your transfer and probably even put you in service early. We won’t have to break up.”

“It’s a generous offer, but I want to be in the Border Forces,” Tara said resignedly. She dragged her hands down her face and glanced over at her girlfriend. “The only reason I even _have_ a mother, let alone Maggie and Seren, is because of the Border Forces, not to mention how many times Papa could have let an enemy soldier claim his life if it were not for the loyalty of his troops. I’m going to _be there_ , for my sister; Lena needs to have someone to count on.”

“But does that someone _have_ to be _you_?”

Tara thought about that for a moment before nodding. “Yes; Lena needs me on the field as much as she needs Astra in court. We’ve been training our whole lives for this… it’s what I want. I could have backed out ages ago but I never did…”

“…and it’d be a waste to back out now,” Petra finished. She exhaled heavily and rested her head on Tara’s shoulder. “Gallifreyans are so bloody _stubborn_.”

“…but admit it, you love stubborn,” Tara grinned. “Gets you all hot and bothered.” With the wall against her back, she held onto her girlfriend a bit tighter.

‘ _Tonight_.’

* * *

That evening, after everyone had gone to their respective rooms for the night, Tara decided to take the plunge. Still in her day clothes, she crept out of her room and made the short walk down the corridor to her parents’ chambers. They often were not in bed until late, meaning the lights from inside clearly shone underneath the door. She hesitated, yet knocked anyhow, knowing that the worst she was bothering was tea with her youngest siblings.

“Mama? Papa? May I come in please?”

Her father opened the door, concern on his face. “Are you alright, starlet?”

“Yes, I…” She trailed off, averting her gaze towards the painting on the corridor wall, only to snap out of it when the Marquis placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Come in, Tara. Talk with us.”

“Okay.”

She allowed him to gently pull her into the chamber, towards the sitting area where her mother and youngest brother were already having tea for the night. The Marchioness recognized the look on her daughter’s face and affectionately stroked Seren’s hair.

“Mama and Papa need to speak with Tara alone about her studies—I’m sorry I’d forgotten. You’ll have to go have Maglina put you to bed tonight,” she said.

“Oh, okay,” the little boy agreed sleepily. He went over to his sister and gave her legs a hug before she sat down. “You in trouble, Tara?”

“Nope—I’m at perfect marks,” she assured him. “I need to report to Mama and Papa _how_ I’ve been getting perfect marks.”

“That’s good; see you tomorrow.” Seren then went over to the nursery, the door closing just as the Marquis sat down next to his wife, their daughter across from them.

“Something tells me this isn’t about your studies,” the Marchioness frowned in concern. “Tea?”

“No thank you,” Tara replied. She had her hands folded in her lap, with which she fiddled nervously. “It’s just… I have something to confess… about Petra…”

“Cadet Sutton is your paramour; we know,” the Marquis said plainly. He sipped at his tea while he watched his daughter’s eyes grow wide. It was not the reaction she had expected of him, and she was shocked. “The only thing we want to know is how long she’s going to be so, since I understand her father is due in for a transfer soon.”

“We… uh… we were…” the teen panicked.

“Did you think we’d be cross with you?” the Marchioness wondered. Tara nodded silently, not knowing what to say. “We have _six children_ , Tara, and you’re not even the eldest. If one of you younger ones decide that they’re not going to have a society marriage, then there’s nothing we can do about that. Even if Cadet Sutton was _Lena’s_ paramour, we can’t be cross; we would need to start investigating the possibility of a political match for her, but nothing more. If it’s no concern for the smallfolk whom their children bed and wed, then it’s no concern of ours.”

“Thank the gods,” Tara exhaled, leaning back into the couch with tears in her eyes. “I was afraid you’d want me to shove her away and play the fool until I could wed a proper gentleman. She’s not even staying until Spring.”

“Starlet, how much have I told you about Lady Melody?” the Marquis asked, placing his cup back on the tea tray. His daughter looked at him to find he was hunched forward, elbows on his knees and hands folded to support his chin.

“You and her were in love, so much so that her death nearly killed you like it did Lord Grandfather and Serdar Williams,” she recalled. “Why?”

“When we were young, we learned of our engagement,” he explained. The Marchioness placed her hand on his back, silently letting him know she was there for him. “At first we thought it was a joke, since my papa and her mama were jokesters, but as time went on, we realized it was serious. She and I didn’t want to go into a marriage feeling like sister and brother, so we began courting when we were a little older than Sterling is now.”

“…but what does…?”

“By the time we were within a year of marriage, our love had grown to the point where we had laid with one another countless times; no platform, no vows, nothing except our own devotion and lust for one another clouding our better judgement.” The Marquis watched Tara’s eyes—oh so like her mother’s—flick back and forth from parent to parent. “I don’t know how far you and Cadet Sutton have gone, but I am not a fool. You have taken her to bed, just as I did with Melody long ago, except you’re in a position to where you will not be ruined by missing maiden’s blood, because you are not heir to the march and earldom.” He straightened his back and took his wife’s hand, enveloping it in both of his. “We cannot condemn you, starlet… only tell you to be careful until you are out of the Academy. No more bedding paramours in this castle after Cadet Sutton leaves, until the reason you are home is because you are not deployed. The two of you can continue on, but once she leaves that’s it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Tara affirmed, her voice small and weak. She looked at her father awkwardly as he sat there with her mother as his emotional brace. “I’ve never read anything that said there were whispers of scandal about you and Lady Melody—you hid it well.”

“How else did your papa know about the blood trick for our first wedding night?” the Marchioness posed. “No, no, we didn’t consummate on the night we first wed, and no, you are not bastards because of it, as has been accused in the past. We renewed our vows, which is an acceptable thing to do, and _then_ consummated. Between your father with Lady Melody, and me with Sir Daniel before I fell in love with your father and he Lady Martha, there’s little ground for us to stand on when it comes to chastising you. Are you happy with Cadet Sutton?”

“Yeah, I am,” Tara replied. “We’ll be sad when she leaves next term, but we have to be used to being broken up short-notice if we’re going to survive being transferred and deployed in different directions than the person who we’re with. We’ll write, but… her aim is the King’s Guard and mine is to defend our borders—there’s no way we could be together in the end. Even if we were, she’s… _average_ and won’t live as long as me. I’d be in a Gallifreyan relationship after she passes anyhow, and most widows in those still mourn for their beloved for a long time, if what I’ve seen in the city is correct. I don’t want to be miserable my whole life with who I have or don’t have in my bed.”

“Well, we want _you_ to be happy, starlet, whether that means forging an alliance through a society marriage, having a common marriage where you could get passed over politically and inheritance-wise if someone was cruel enough, or not marrying at all,” the Marquis stated. “Your brothers and sisters all seem eager enough to play by highborn rules when it comes to love and issue, so I doubt anyone will see what you’re doing and bat an eye.”

“…but only _after_ I’m revealed and in the military,” she added.

“That’s correct,” her father smiled. He stood and opened his arms, an action his daughter understood completely as she went to her feet and entered his embrace. She began to weep as she felt his arms around her, a hand keeping her head against his chest and an arm holding her shoulders steady. “We all have roles to play, and so far you are doing brilliantly as one of the six stars in my sky.”

“…but I broke your trust,” Tara sobbed. “I took a paramour without consulting you and Mama—I lied about the relationship…”

“…as if you’d think that would make a difference,” the Marquis murmured. He kissed his daughter’s crown and shushed her gently, holding her at arm’s length. “Make us proud—that’s all we ask.”

“Your papa is right; there is nothing we’d love more than for you to do your best in life,” the Marchioness continued. “Just because Grandpapa tried to play by high society’s rules doesn’t mean I want to force you to do so as well and be an open secret. No child of ours is a secret.”

“Thanks,” the teen sniffled. The three then sat together and talked some more, until Tara began to yawn and it was decided that they all turn in for the night. Once the cadet was back in her room, it was all she could do to flop onto her bed, not even changing out of her uniform. A weight had lifted from her shoulders—she truly was free.

* * *

The following morning, Petra was placing things in her locker when she felt a familiar pair of hands grab her from behind. She turned and saw Tara, who was grinning madly, looking as if she’d slept better than she had in ages.

“What’s up with you?” she giggled. She paused to digest the look on her girlfriend’s face and her eyes went wide in horror. “You aren’t considering my offer from yesterday, are you?”

“Nope, not at all,” Tara replied. She leaned in and whispered lowly in her ear. “I talked to Mama and Papa—they already knew, and are perfectly fine with it. They were actually _encouraging_ about everything.”

“Really…?”

“Really.” The two then began to kiss, only to be interrupted by a tap to Tara’s shoulder. Standing there was one of their teachers, with a look on his face that screamed “knock it off”.

“Ladies, if you’re not in my room in five minutes, there will be consequences,” he warned gently. “We’re here to _learn_ , not snog.”

“How about learning how to snog?” Tara offered.

“Enough with the cheek—get a move on,” their teacher said.

“Okay, okay, relax, Johan; we’ll be there.”

“For the last time, it’s _Professor Benton_ ,” he corrected before walking off. The two teens giggled at one another before rushing to get their stuff together—everything was _great_.


	26. The Baron's Courtesy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 51, Daniel at 34, Clara at 32, and Lena having recently turned 1.

News had spread quickly of the return of Rupert Daniel Pink from the depths of Cybera and how he was able to valiantly keep hold of his mind and allegiances during his years captive. Soon, the entire kingdom was chatting, from the Kasterborsian Border Forces, whom picked him up as a half-starved husk, to his native Gloucester, and even the capital. His Royal Highness himself heard about the miraculous man, inviting him to his court to hear the story first-hand. By the time the tale was told, the King was so moved that he went to his office and found a list of lands resting in stewardship, offering the man with metal in his face his pick.

Ever modest, the hero turned down the King’s offer again and again, until it was clear he was not leaving the monarch’s offices unless he chose a land to govern. He chose Coal-on-the-Hill, a sleepy little barony in the north of the kingdom where the seasons changed without fuss and his neighbors were too busy with their own problems to bother with him. Within a month, the freshly-made Baron rode towards his new home, a terrible mess of nerves and uncertainty. The steward took his ousting well, having long wanted to be free of the responsibility, and before long, even those who disliked the idea of a new ruler—uplifted from the soldiering class with origins not of the lands he now governed—accepted the metal-studded man as their new liege lord.

“This feels so awkward,” the Baron groused as he sat down to dinner. He had invited the Marquis and Marchioness over for a spell to help him adjust to his new position. While he knew a great deal of how running a swath of the kingdom worked, he was also aware he was not trained from birth as his guests were, and their assistance could prevent a gaffe later on. “I don’t know all these rules for dining and holidaying and this and that—why can’t I simply be me?”

“Unfortunately, the times to be yourself are going to be few and far between,” the Marquis said. “No one has threatened to depose you yet—it could be worse.”

“Once the people become used to you, then you can relax and let yourself shine through,” the Marchioness assured. “You’re a smart man, Daniel, not to mention kind and thoughtful. Even if it takes a while, I’m sure the Hillians will come to love you.” She glanced over at the pen over on the other side of the room and watched as her daughter played with her toys. “Lena will inherit our lands one day, and it could very well take until she wears the coronet for her to be wholly accepted. At least your tenure is already here and it cannot be prevented.”

“I guess,” the Baron shrugged. He picked at his food and frowned.  “It still doesn’t seem right though.”

“It’s about what’s for the good of the kingdom and the lands we hold influence in,” the Marquis explained gravely. “His Highness saw in you the ability to lead and nurture a people; we will teach you what you need to know beyond how to eat and when your public holidays lie.”

“Thank you, truly,” he replied. He too saw Lena playing in her pen and his lips twitched in a smile. “While you both are here, I want you to be able to take a couple days for yourself—I’ll watch over Lena.”

“Is that wise?” the Marquis wondered.

“I still plan on being her tutor when she comes of schooling age, so she needs to be comfortable with me,” the Baron justified. “I’ve been her sitter before.”

“He has a point, Johan,” the Marchioness said. “I think once we have gotten a few things down, then we’ll plan on a short holiday. When we return, we can continue with assisting you in whatever capacity you need.”

“Sounds like a plan,” the Baron said. “Johan?”

“I suppose,” he grumbled, attempting to not show his embarrassment. He was aware that the Baron knew what a few days alone with his wife would be, the thought of which made his ears burn in flustered anticipation. It was such a relief to him that the Baron put aside his long-held feelings for the Marchioness, that the Marquis did not want to slight him even the smallest iota. He respected the man; he wasn’t merely a strong back and a soldier’s stance as he had previously thought, but someone like him, even without his new title. The Baron cared about things and people worth caring about, and no amount of humble claims towards merely desiring peace and quiet would convince him otherwise.

Dinner continued on, the three adults changing the subject to discuss the itinerary for the following day. Everything was going along splendidly.

* * *

About a week later and the Marquis and Marchioness decided to take their holiday. With Lena gently tucked away in the crook of the Baron’s arm, the parents donned common clothes and rode the back of the same horse as they went in search of their planned getaway. They rode for nearly an entire day before coming to an outbuilding on the far edge of the barony. It was a simple hut, with one room and an outdoor privy, yet the sight of it was more welcome than the couple could ever imagine.

“We’re lucky this was listed in Daniel’s property,” the Marchioness said as her husband forced the key to turn in the rusted lock. Their horse was grazing happily in a shabby paddock while they attempted to continue on their mission. “I don’t think this place has been used since the last Baron’s tenure.”

“…at the very least,” the Marquis added. He finally tricked the door into opening and they gained access to the hut. It held up incredibly well for two generations’ worth of neglect, with the worst thing being the amount of spider webs that coated the furniture. “He just wants us to clean his getaway cottage.”

“His ‘getaway cottage’ is the one on the castle grounds for the tutor of the Doctor’s children,” she reminded him, grabbing a broom and combating the webs and dust. “Help me out, will you?”

“Of course, dearest.”

Before long, the tiny house was well-dusted and being aired out, the sweet wind gently blowing in and giving the building new life. The Marquis brought in their packs—bedding and food for their stay—and eventually dinner was eaten and he was snuggled with the Marchioness in front of a small fire.

“Do we have anything like this?” she asked, rubbing her face against the rough cloth of his shirt. She was sitting in his lap, his arms wrapped securely around her.

“Anything like what?”

“…like this house,” she clarified. “Is there a second house somewhere in the march that is currently unused? I don’t think I’ve seen anything about one in the finances.”

“There is a fine manor that lies in a valley in the west of the march. I should arrange to have someone escort you there,” he said. “They’re fairly self-sufficient as far as how they gather their funding. The last time I had to send money was over ten years ago.”

“Why can’t you show me?” she teased, playfully flicking the end of his nose. He gazed down into her eyes, trying not to mourn what was lost long ago.

“It has mainly been used by the Earls of Gallifrey as their residence when not needed at the front or in the city. It’s Lena’s now.”

“That shouldn’t mean a thing.”

“It’s where her older sibling died—I haven’t been there in over thirty years.”

“Oh…” the Marchioness muttered. She held her husband’s arms closer around her, keeping him secure. “Jarlshall, yeah?”

“That’s it.” He kissed the top of her head and lingered, feeling the silkiness of her hair compared to his rough whiskers. “Lena will use it one day and by that time I might be able to return. We could even retire there, if that’s what you end up wanting. As much as my hearts have healed, I don’t know what that place will do to me at this point.”

“If it were for any other reason, I’d say you were being silly, but I understand,” she said. She then stood and held out her hand, offering a boost up. “Join me for bed?”

“It will be my honor,” he said. After a boost up from his wife, he put out the fire and helped her make the bed. The mattress was a thin one, military issue that they’d brought along from Hill House, and it fit in the rough frame well. With sheets and blankets in place and the couple changed into their dressing gowns, they snuffed out the lamp and cuddled together underneath the blankets.

“It’s not often I get to see you in blue moonlight,” the Marchioness hummed. She traced her fingers across the lines of the Marquis’s face, taking him in with the wan light from outside. “There’s something a bit more regal to you like this.”

“Whatever milady says,” he replied. He took her hand in his and kissed the knuckles in reverent adoration. “This is a treat for me as well, for you are stunning no matter which night sky you grace with your presence. I hope our daughter grows into her own with as much confidence and integrity as her mama, for that way she shall be unstoppable.”

“Mmm… flatterer,” she chuckled. She then turned him over with great ease, pushing him onto his back so that she could prop herself above him. Taking hold of his mouth with hers, she kissed him as she eased his hands towards her hips.

“This feels naughty,” he murmured against her lips.

“Only because we’ve gone without for so long,” she smirked. “Lena being able to come into our chambers has been both a blessing and a curse.” She tilted her head back and allowed her husband to begin trailing tickling kisses down her throat. “We are so fortunate to have one another.”

“I am truly the luckiest man alive, to have an heir from a wife as loving and devoted as yourself.” His fingers began to make quick work of her nightdress, hiking it up underneath the bedding. “The moon in the sky is a dim, dark, dismal substitute for the ray of light I hold in my arms this very moment. You illuminate the way that was once lost to the night—to think I nearly allowed myself to miss the glory and honor that is your love. Any man to give over his heart to you would be humbled by the experience, yet you’ve chosen me, whom deserves it least of all.”

“…and yet I chose the only man in the kingdom with two hearts to give; possessing them both is my pleasure and joy.” She gripped his nightdress at the chest as she felt his hands grab hold of her bare thighs, the pads of his thumbs stroking the insides gently. “Take me, Johan; let me experience that humble love first-hand.”

He rolled them over and he did.

* * *

A few days had passed before the Marquis and Marchioness packed up their things and rode back to Hill House. Picnics in the dappled sunshine and walks along quiet trails were very relaxing, yet they had to return to not only their friend, but their daughter as well. The couple found them that evening in the library, the Baron reading happily to the enthralled Lena. Soon as the adults noticed one another, however, the reading lessons stopped and the toddler was allowed to bounce over towards her mother.

“Mama! Mama!” Lena squealed in delight. The Marchioness picked her up and gave her a kiss on the cheek, as well as a hug for good measure. Thrusting her hands outwards, Lena then opened and closed them in the direction of the Marquis. “Papa! Papa!”

“Come here, starlet,” he beamed, lifting the girl from his wife’s arms. After hugs and kisses, she aggressively snuggled in his chest, clutching his cape possessively. “How was she, Daniel? Not too bad, I hope.”

“She came to my bed crying for you two at night, but otherwise she coped rather well,” the Baron said. He then laughed awkwardly. “Guess what?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, but _my neighbors_ came by while you were gone.”

“Which neighbor?” the Marchioness wondered.

“Baron and Baroness Shoreditch,” the Baron explained. “Apparently the previous Barons Coal-on-the-Hill and Shoreditch were distant cousins, and I now know _all_ about the history between the two lines and how the Shoreditch line is locked out of inheriting Coal-on-the-Hill, hence the stewardship.”

“Was he trying to bully you into rescinding your title?” the Marquis asked. “I can help convince him otherwise, if necessary.”

“No—he’s a drunkard and she’s not that bright, though too kind a soul to do something like push me out of my title. I feel bad for their son: still of primary school age and knows he’s more put together than his parents.” The Baron gently touched Lena’s cheek, making sure to not scratch her with the metal caps on his knuckles. “He got along splendidly with this little one though; a complete natural.”

“Papa? Pway?” Lena asked excitedly. The Marquis shook his head and kissed her brow, causing her to giggle.

“No playing anymore tonight,” he said, “because Mama and Papa are very tired from the road. Now where is your lion? It’s time for bed.” He put Lena on the ground and she scuttled off to fetch her plush toy on the other side of the room, giving the adults a chance to talk. “She is a ball of energy.”

“Yes; thank you again for taking her, Daniel,” the Marchioness said. “That was precisely the break we needed.”

“Help me conduct the monthly open forum tomorrow and we’ll call it even,” the Baron replied. It was all agreed and they dispersed, the host to his quarters for the night and his guests to theirs. The Marquis and Marchioness put their daughter down in her cot and dressed themselves on the other side of the room, sliding into bed content.

“As much as I loved being with you, my back is glad for the softer mattress,” the Marchioness laughed into her husband’s hair. She pressed her chest against his back, keeping him close. “The moon in my sky—I’m glad everything has worked out so well for us.”

“Not a day goes by where I’m not falling more in love with you,” he whispered. He took her hand and kissed her fingertips tenderly, ending with a small laugh. “Would you look at who decided to join us this evening?” The Marquis let go of his wife’s hand and opened his arm for the toddler scaling the side of the bed, her toy lion in-tow. “Did you miss us that much, starlet?”

“Mama Papa no go,” Lena demanded. She curled up against her father, whimpering quietly in the night. “Mama Papa stay now.”

“We won’t go, not any time soon,” the Marchioness cooed. She propped herself up in order to see her daughter and stroked her fluffy curls affectionately. “Mama and Papa missed you too. You were a big girl and behaved while we were gone, and we’re very proud.”

The family went to sleep all entangled in one another that night. Getting a few days off was romantic and well-appreciated, but that didn’t mean the Marquis and Marchioness were unable to enjoy their heir’s presence. True happiness was often difficult to find, though they had it, and for that they were glad.


	27. The Blackpudlian Holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough ages are as follows: David at 66, Johan at 65, Linda at 58, Clara at 46, Lena at 15, Astra/Tara at 13, Sterling at 9, Maglina/Oriana at 7, and Seren at 2.

It was a soggy day as a fine carriage came trotting into Blackpoole, heading right to the large mansion where the viscount presided over the city’s affairs. When it rolled up to the door, David Oswald, Viscount Blackpoole, stepped into the entrance to greet his guests without getting rained on, except a few of them had other plans in mind.

“Starlets! Get back here!” the Marquis demanded as small children piled out of the carriage and into the puddles. Tara was no help and tried tossing Seren in a particular mud pile, only to be rescued by their father. Lena and Astra quickly went from the carriage to their grandfather, each giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek as they entered the mansion.

“How are you doing, Grandpapa?” Lena asked.

“Well enough,” he nodded. The Viscount took in the sight of his eldest two granddaughters, fighting tears welling in his eyes. “Look at the two of you—so grown up already. You are going to be such graceful and capable ladies one of these days… sooner rather than later.”

“They’re pretty much there now, Grandpapa,” Tara grinned. The Viscount glanced over and saw that the puddle-jumping had been quelled, but not before it took its toll. Tara was standing on the steps with Maglina under one arm and Oriana under the other, while Seren sat perched upon the Marquis’s shoulders, and Sterling was huddled under his father’s cape; all the children were covered from head to toe in mud. The Marquis himself appeared to be at his wits’ end, likely the result of all the time crammed in the carriage with his children.

“Ah, there’s the rest of you,” the Viscount beamed. He greeted each of his grandchildren and Oriana with a kiss before having them go upstairs to change into dry clothes. Once it was him and his son-in-law, he finally was able to let out a snicker. “They’re still a handful, aren’t they?”

“Clara told me we could have as many as fifteen once—I couldn’t handle fifteen of them,” the Marquis shuddered.

“Speaking of my daughter, where is she?”

“There was a last-minute call from the front—she should be here in a few days or so. I insisted I go, since it’s _you_ we’re visiting, but…”

“…not our Clara; when she can be of use, off she goes,” the Viscount chuckled. He looked at the veritable mess that was his daughter’s husband and gave him a pat on the back. “Go ahead and get into something not road-worn and I’ll be in the lounge.”

“Thanks,” he replied.

The Viscount retreated to his favorite room in the entire house, where there was a warm fire surrounded by comfortable chairs, and bookcases and cupboards lined the walls where they weren’t covered in art. He went into one of the cupboards to browse his liquor collection. By the time the Marquis joined him he had poured out a drink for them both and was reclined in a chair, comfortably awaiting his guest.

“Thought you’d like a little pick-me-up,” the Viscount said, motioning towards the drink sitting on the table between them. “I know it’s generally colder up in Kasterborous than here, but it’s the winds that will cut down to your bones.”

“Well put,” the Marquis agreed. He attempted to not down the entire drink in one go, savoring it as the liquid warmth pooled in his belly. Too much at once without dinner in front of him would be a grave mistake and he did not need to explain to his younger children about being drunk. Instead, he thought of something else to occupy their time. “I noticed a distinct lack of Linda around the house.”

“She’s here, lurking about somewhere,” the Viscount frowned. “Every other word out of her mouth has been about how the children are going to ruin things these next couple weeks, so I highly doubt she simply vanished. The day she stops complaining is the day she dies.”

“…and knowing Linda, even death won’t stop her,” the Marquis quipped. The two men shared a laugh before Lena walked in, Seren dutifully trailing behind her, clutching the hem of her dress.

“I sense the two of you are talking about things you shouldn’t,” the teen teased. She plucked a book from a shelf and sat down next to the fire, flaring out her skirt, and allowed her baby brother to snuggle into her side. When she opened the book, Seren stared intently at the illustrations, allowing her to talk. “How is Blackpoole, Grandpapa? Your last letter said something about locating a cousin that might be able to succeed you.”

“Let me put it this way, my darling: I would rather have let the viscounty pass into a stewardship in hopes that someone like your Sir Daniel is created next Viscount Blackpoole,” he scowled.

“Ouch, that bad?”

“You don’t even know the half of it and I’m doing my grandfatherly duty by sparing you the details.” The remaining children then found their way into the lounge, with the younger ones tackling the Viscount into a loving hug, while Astra and Tara made do with a kiss to the cheek.

“Can you read us a story, Grandpapa?” Maglina wondered. “I was telling Ori on the way over that you read some of the best stories! With voices too!”

“Granddad reads me stories, but he’s not very good at it,” Oriana elaborated.

“He tries though and that’s what counts,” the Viscount said gently. “Now why don’t you three pick out a book for Grandpapa, hmm? We might not get a chance to read after dinner.”

With that, the three children’s eyes went wide and they rushed over to the shelf where they knew all their favorites were kept. The Viscount moved over to a couch and settled down while the younger children returned with the book they wanted him to read. Even Seren bounced over, nestling himself directly in his grandfather’s lap, leaving his eldest sister to browse through their book on her own.

“Papa?” Lena asked quietly, so that the faerie stories were not disturbed.

“Yes, starlet?”

“I do think coming was still a good idea,” she said. By now, Astra and Tara had found their own books to curl up with, and the entire family was sitting around in an idyllic sort of peace. Compared to how chaotic it had been inside the carriage, where no one had enough room and everyone was getting restless from the road, things were perfect. The only way they could have been better was if his wife was next to him, holding his hand as they pretended to browse their own books while still listening to the Viscount’s storytelling. Things weren’t perfect, but they were close.

* * *

“The older three I can stretch my limits for, but do _all seven children_ have to be here at the dinner table?” the Viscountess frowned through her wine. One end of the table contained her husband, his son-in-law, and the twins, but the other end had the younger four children being presided over by Lena, who was in full governess mode.

“We all eat at the dinner table together at home, and David thought it would be nice to try here,” the Marquis shot back. He did not like the Viscount’s wife, never had if truth be told, and frankly looked forward to the day where she stormed off in irritation, not caring how prestigious the marriage was, even if it meant he had to supply the remainder of Blackpoole’s recovery money himself. The viscounty was nearly there, after all, and her temperament was more than enough grounds for a rare case of societal divorce. “Did you never dine with your parents as a child?”

“I ate with a nurse or governess until I was of-age,” she replied dryly. The Viscountess noticed the lip-smacking coming from the side of her and grimaced at Tara’s lack of adherence to general courtesy even commoners were able to accomplish. Tara noticed and grinned over at her father, though shrunk back when she was the disapproval on his face as well.

‘ _I thought we liked irritating the bat_ ,’ she projected into his mind.

‘ _Not when I can hear you from all the way over **here**_ ,’ he replied. ‘ _Don’t make your mama’s arrival worse than it already will be—Linda has plenty to complain to her about and we haven’t even been here a day_.’

‘ _Oh, yeah_.’ She closed her mouth and began to chew politely, making the Viscountess, but more importantly her father, at-ease.

“Grandmamma, can you please read us a story after dinner?” Maglina asked. “I bet you could read lovely stories if you tried!”

“I am not your grandmother, nor will I read you a story,” the Viscountess responded, using the gentlest tone she could. It was still sharper than Maglina expected, making her crouch back in confusion. Oriana, however, was not done at that.

“…but Grandpapa loves reading us stories all the time,” she mentioned. “Grandpapa’s been with us almost since we got here, but this is the first time we’ve seen you. Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel perfectly fine, _thank you_ ,” the Viscountess muttered. She then turned her attention to her husband. “David, did you hear what she referred to you as?”

“I told her to call me that last time I was in Gallifrey,” the Viscount shrugged. He popped some food in his mouth, not caring about propriety while in present company. “She’s welcome just as much as Maglina is; I love being Grandpapa.”

“Ori’s granddad lets us call him Granddad, since we don’t have a grand _dad_ , so it makes sense that if she doesn’t have a grand _papa_ , that she calls _our_ grandpapa _her_ grandpapa as well,” Sterling rationalized.

“Well, that’s because Mr. Jones and Grandpapa are both kind men when it comes to children,” Lena said, butting in before the Viscountess could make a sound. “We are actually very lucky to have such welcoming people in our lives.”

“Quite,” the Viscountess muttered. She sipped her wine and huffed grouchily. “I am curious though: is there a shortage of governesses in the north, or do you go without for cost-savings?”

“Mama and Papa have raised us without a governess so that they have a direct hand in our upbringing,” Astra explained, doing her best to sound cordial. “We all have had a solid understanding of government since we were Seren’s age, and no matter where any of us younger children end up, we will be excellent council for whomever we’re with.”

“I have claim on Astra and Tara,” Lena added. “If you want to poach any of us for the viscounty, your options are becoming limited.”

“ _‘Poach’_ …?” Seren wondered, pushing the veg on his plate around. “Is that like eggs or is that like bad peoples and animals?”

“Like bad people and animals, but with more stealing and less dying,” Sterling explained. His baby brother nodded at the information, whether he understand it or not.

“I’m not gonna be stoleded,” he decided.

“How reassuring,” the Viscountess deadpanned. She knocked back another large gulp of her drink—dealing with the children made such things necessary.

“I have no doubt that your children are going to be forces to be reckoned with,” the Viscount told the Marquis. “From Clara’s letters, I know they are all coming along rather nicely.”

“Papa, when is Mama coming?” Maglina asked. “She said she’d follow soon, but _how soon_?”

“When she deems the front to be safe enough to leave be for a while,” the Marquis said. “Don’t fret; she’ll be here before you know it.”

“Good, because Mama should be here,” the girl stated. She took a sprout from her plate and chewed idly. “I hope she’s done with helping the soldiers before our visit is over, or that would be sad.”

“She’ll do her best to make it, don’t worry,” Lena said.

“Grandmamma, _why_ did you never eat with your parents until you were older?” Oriana wondered, bringing the conversation back around. The Viscountess huffed loudly and threw down her utensils, getting up and storming from the dining room in irritation.

“Grandmamma’s parents were much more traditional than you are used to, dear,” the Viscount said, without missing a beat. “They are all about prestige and ceremony, when _some parents_ understand that children need not only to be with their family, but that they need to have fun on occasion. I doubt Grandmamma ever had fun in her entire life.”

“Oh wow…” Oriana and Maglina marveled. The older girls all attempted to hide their laughter—if the Viscountess heard such talk, she would likely pitch a fit.

“Let’s keep that a secret, alright starlets?” the Marquis gently ordered. “That goes for you too, Oriana—if we talk poorly of Lady Linda too freely, it will only cause problems that are easier to avoid than to deal with.”

“Yes, Papa,” his children chorused, with Oriana using “sir” instead.

“Good; now tell me what your plans are for this visit.”

* * *

The rain had not let up by the time the Marchioness rode into Blackpoole a few days later. When she had learned of the emergency along the Cyberan border, she sent her husband and children on their way, taking one of the faster horses from the stables to aid the troops. It had been a quick one, with fighting nearly done by the time she arrived, though she made sure to stay until she was confident things were under control again. A guard who already had business in that direction accompanied her on the path the Blackpoole, the two splitting up just beyond the viscounty’s border. By the time she made it to her childhood home, she was soaked down to the skin. The Head of House greeted her, the elderly woman tutting at the state of her former mistress.

“Here you are again, back from a trip and looking like you just came out of the sea,” she teased, peeling the Marchioness’s cloak off of her. It was very heavy—supposedly waterproofed—and left big droplets of water on the floor. “Should I tell everyone that you’re here, or would you rather wait until you’ve changed clothes?”

“Until I’ve changed, please,” the Marchioness said. She and the Head of House went up to her quarters and gossiped while she put on something dry and made her hair presentable again. They then walked together to the library, where the eldest three girls were working on some assignments given to them. The Marchioness walked in by herself, glad to see her daughters again, even though it wasn’t her entire family at once.

“Here are some of my darlings,” she beamed. She gave them each a hug and a kiss, holding onto them tightly. “How was the trip without me? Did the younger ones behave? Did your Papa behave?”

“Well enough,” Astra reported. “Papa and Grandpapa should be in the lounge right now with the younger ones; we wanted to get some work done in peace without them shrieking in our ears.”

“Sounds like a wise decision,” her mother agreed. “Well, it’s good to see at least some of you are doing well, though I think we’d all be better off if the rain stopped.”

“I want to go outside in the _worst way_ ,” Tara moaned. “I can’t even bring the young ones out to play! I’m willing to babysit if it gets me out of the mansion!”

“The rain should let up soon enough,” the Marchioness said. “Be patient.”

Tara muttered something under her breath as she went back to her studies. Once the Marchioness was sure that the teens were fine, she wandered off towards the study, where she found her father sharing a drink with her husband, while her sons sat on the rug, the elder patiently reading to the younger.

“Mama!” Seren gasped. He shoved the book out of Sterling’s hands and jumped off his lap, running tearfully towards their mother. “I miss you, Mama!”

“I missed you too,” she cooed. The Marchioness kissed Sterling on the forehead before hugging her father, who had in the meantime stood up and approached her.

“There’s my girl, breaking up men’s bonding time without warning,” the Viscount beamed. “Glad you could make it.”

“I’m glad too, Papa.” She was then greeted by her husband; he merely bent down and kissed first her cheeks, then her forehead, and finally her lips. “Our boys are doing well, I see.”

“Now that you’re here, there should be no doubt,” he murmured against her skin. He then straightened and took Seren in his arms, ticking the boy in the side. “We were only sitting down for drinks and relaxing before dinner—the elder girls wished to study and the younger ones wished to play, meaning it has been us men.”

“Sterling and me get apple juices, Mama!” Seren giggled. He broke free of his father’s grasp and climbed up to his shoulders. “Papa and Grandpapa get ucky, spoiled juices!”

“Now isn’t that silly of them, drinking spoiled juices like that?” the Marchioness laughed. The guilty looks in the Marquis and Viscount’s eyes meant that there was a chance one of, or even both, her boys were allowed to try a sip, as their elder sisters had as small children, and the bitter spirits her father kept were a far cry from the sweet, watered-down wines they were allowed to begin drinking with dinner at Lena’s age. A taste of the strong stuff while very young was how she was kept from wanting to experiment with the liquor cabinet’s contents before she knew how to handle herself, and it was certainly working for her children.

“Did you see the girls?” the Marquis wondered.

“Not Maglina and Oriana,” his wife answered. Just then, the two girls dashed into the room, hiding beneath the Marquis’s cape. “Well, speak and they shall come. How are you doing?”

“We didn’t mean any harm!” Maglina squeaked out in terror.

“Please don’t let her throw us out!”

The other adults in the room were terribly confused until a moment later when the Viscountess burst into the room. While the glaze in her eyes said she had barely just risen from a nap, the amount of rouge and lipstick on her face showed that the girls had been attempting to use her as a practice doll. Even her hair had been pinned up haphazardly; the entire sight of her caused her husband to choke down laughter, while her stepdaughter and son-in-law looked on with wide, terrified eyes. Sterling and Seren weren’t even immune, with the former hiding behind his grandfather and the latter covering his face with his hands.

“Looks like you were getting some beauty tips from the nips, weren’t you?” the Viscount chuckled.

“Keep those _ill-born brats_ and their _charity case_ out of my chambers, or I will make sure your life is _miserable_ until your final days,” she sneered. The Marquis inhaled in anger, about to unleash hellfury upon the woman who _dare_ spoke poorly of his children and their friend, except Clara stepped forth, an eerie smile on her face.

“Linda, we both know that we’ve never enjoyed one another’s company,” she began, “and I am frankly used to such language about myself that it barely phases me, coming from both you and others.” She then took a breath, steeling herself. “However, if you say _one thing_ about my family that they don’t deserve, I will be the one to make sure that you are miserable until they lay your cold, wretched body into the even colder earth. That goes doubly for any other child left in our care—this particular child being one born of heroes, who would have eventually outranked you in her own right had you not married my father. Do not make me repeat myself, is that understood?”

The Viscountess glared at her stepdaughter, assessing the situation. “Yes,” she spat.

“Good, or next time, I’ll allow my lord husband to do the rebuking, and you don’t want that,” the Marchioness said. She then turned towards Maglina and Oriana, motioning for them to come forward. “Girls, what do you say to Lady Linda?”

“Sorry, Grandmamma,” the two said together, refusing to come out from behind the safety of the Marquis’s cape. Maglina braved a bit further, stepping forward, though still poking out from the safety of the fabric.

“We wanted you to have a nice surprise when you woke up!” she explained. “We thought that if we did your dinner makeup, you’d be happy!”

“In the future, **_don’t_** do another’s makeup for them unless they are awake and ask for it,” the Viscountess hissed. She then turned on her heel and stomped off.

“I don’t think I’ve seen her looking like that the entire time we’ve been married,” the Viscount marveled once his wife was out of earshot. “I know you were trying to do a good thing, but you have to be very careful with Grandmamma.”

“We just wanted her to have fun like the rest of us!” Oriana protested, tears beginning to well in her eyes. “Even Mum and Dad don’t yell at me like that when I do something bad.

“Grandmamma never had children, so she doesn’t know how to talk to them—it’s alright.” The Viscount opened his arms and let the girls come to him for a hug. “Now, Clara, what do you think we should do?”

“They already apologized, and the shouting would scare anyone into behaving, but I think no dessert tonight should do as an _extra reminder_ , don’t you think?”

Maglina and Oriana both nodded sadly. Next time, they were going to run their ideas by Lena before doing anything.

“Mama? Can I help? There’s still a little time before dinner,” Sterling offered.

“Be careful,” the Marchioness warned. The boy took his sister and friend both by the hand and led them out of the room.

“Oh, this is a bind,” the Viscount exhaled. “I’ll be lucky if I get a court appearance out of her before the snows fly.”

“They’re only young girls— _children_ —and their work can be undone,” the Marquis growled. “It’s no wonder she went so long without remarrying after her first husband died… she has the disposition of a shan leopard that lost a kill.”

“Let’s see what Sterling has first, then we can fling all the words we want,” the Marchioness said. “Now… how have things been since I last saw you both?”

* * *

It was nearing dinner and there was no sign of the Viscountess, nor Sterling, Oriana, and Maglina. The remainder of the family was beginning to take their seats, with the adults filling in the older three girls on the situation.

“I can’t believe they got away with that unscathed,” Astra gasped. She and her sisters were truly flabbergasted at the tale.

“Those two are going to be in so _much_ trouble,” Tara snarked.

“I just hope Sterling knows what he’s doing, or he’ll make things worse,” Lena finished. It took a while after they all sat down, but the Viscountess did eventually grace them with her presence. Her face was scrubbed clean and her hair redone, and she still seemed more irritable than usual.

“I see there’s less children at the table,” she mentioned. “Are there punishments being served?”

“No, Grandmamma! We were just finishing this!” Maglina said cheerily. She and Oriana then came into the dining room, closely followed by Sterling. The girls were each carrying a small vase with some snakeflowers, eglantines, and peonies. They put the vases on either side of the Viscountess’s place setting before giving her a kiss on the cheek. “We’re _really_ sorry, so Sterling helped us pick the right flowers to help say so.”

The Viscountess stared at the small gifts, unsure of what to say. She glanced from one girl to the other, wondering how to react, and instead patted them on the head.

“Sit down—the cook is probably furious enough as it is that we haven’t started yet.” It was an order that the children gladly followed, for it meant things were on the mend.


	28. The Accountant and the Merchant (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve gotten a couple requests for older starlets, so I’m going to try to mix in some of their adult adventures while keeping with the family and Whouffaldi themes. This doesn’t even mention the fact I’ve had this chapter mostly written for a long time.
> 
> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 71, Clara at 52, a new character(!) at 27, Lena at 21, Astra at 19, Sterling at 15, and although they don’t have much to say, Maglina is 13 and Seren is 8. Tara is also 19, but is off cutting Dalek bitches as she was always meant to.

As he heard the request, the Marquis nearly choked on his drink in surprise. The family was sitting down to dinner, the soup having just finished, when the patriarch’s feathers were ruffled.

“You want to **_what_**?!” he coughed, thumping his chest with his fist to clear out the remaining liquid in his lungs. Astra slumped slightly in her seat, unconsciously trying to seem smaller.

“I wanted to know if you think I should start an audit of the local guilds, to make sure the books are compliant, in winter while trade with people outside the march is down,” she said, almost demurely. “It would only be for a few days.”

“Yes, but _staying_ at the guilds as well?! There’s no way!”

“Astra isn’t the one people have memorized, Papa—it’s _me_ ,” Lena protested. “ ** _I_** think it’s a good idea, and if she stays at the guilds’ lodging while she works, then she won’t have to walk along the streets when it’s dark.”

“I can use Tara’s surname when I go out, and give the story that she did in the Academy!” Astra added. Her eyes went wide; she was beginning to panic. “It won’t be lying and I can see what it’s like in the guilds themselves! I’ve thought this through, Papa! I’ll take every precaution!”

“I can go with her, if you want,” Sterling offered. “I’m not a bodyguard, but it’s always safer in numbers, especially in unfamiliar places.”

“ _No_ ,” the Marquis stated. “The snows should fly soon and, if the predictions are correct, once that happens, whoever is stuck in the lodging over whichever guild you start with will be apt to going stir-crazy. It’s _too dangerous_.”

“Johan, do you recall a conversation we had a little over fifteen years ago at this point?” the Marchioness asked. The entire table looked at her as she carefully served herself some roast from the plate a footman was holding close to her.

“We’ve had _many_ conversations,” her husband replied cautiously. “Which one in particular are we referring to?”

“I was carrying Sterling at the time and was away at the border for a couple weeks. When I came back I found my darling daughters, barely of schooling age mind you, being taught how to _thrust a sword in an opponent’s midsection_.” Her voice became bitter and she shot the Marquis a sour glare. “You had Astra taught how to defend herself; now make good on it and let her out within the city of her forebears without an escort.”

“…but Clara!”

“Don’t ‘ _but Clara_ ’ your way out of this one,” she said resolutely. “Astra can not only run at full speed in heeled shoes, but she can wield a sword in them as well. She’s not Tara, but she’s not _helpless_. A knife and her wits is all the protection she needs.”

“What good of a father am I if I don’t fear for my daughter?” the Marquis posed.

“What good of a father are you if you can’t let your daughter out of your sight for more than five minutes?” his wife retorted. “She is going—it’s a simple matter.” She then turned towards Astra and gave her a smile, one that was meant to be cheerful, yet came off as eerie. “Which guild were you thinking of going through first?”

Astra straightened up in her seat and shrugged. “Going by the records, I’d say the merchant’s guild. The records we have for them had been damaged by fire, and I want to make sure it was just an accident by candlelight and not something that needs looking-into. The most recent of the undamaged accounts only go back to early in your time here, Mama, and there are some from even before then that got caught up in whatever happened.”

“Then by all means we should have them be the first stop,” the Marchioness agreed. “We shall see if one of the maids is willing to pop into the charity shop on her way home in our stead so you can have a couple dresses that are common, but not rags. Most of what you own now I think would be a tad over-the-top for a simple accountant.”

“Thanks, Mama,” Astra squeaked. She knew it was a little thing, but a great victory overall.

* * *

Olivier took his hat off as he entered the building and looked around. Guilds in the north were said to always some of the busier places to visit on rounds, and this trip was no exception. People bustled back and forth in the high-ceilinged atrium, haggling and arguing and discussing their trades. Weaving his way through the crowd, the visitor ascended the stairs to the second floor loft, where he found the clerk’s desk and cleared his throat, causing the clerk to glance up.

“Complaint, registration, payment of dues, or other?”

“Payment of dues, please.” Digging into his cloak pocket, Olivier pulled out a few coins and placed them on the desk. “Peladon Shipping and Freight; it should be under Antoine Peladon. That should cover the first half of next year too.”

The clerk took a large book from a shelf behind him and allowed it to thud to the table. He slowly tabbed through it as he tried to find the account. As he was flipping the pages, a young woman—early twenties if he had to venture a guess—came out of an office down the way and approached the clerk’s desk. She opened the door and went into the booth, upsetting the clerk in the process.

“Stay out of here, child!” he snapped.

“Well this _child_ requires the next set of records,” she said in a plain, flat voice. “I do believe I’m on the Twelfth Marquis’s first decade of tenure.” She waited patiently as the clerk plucked a book from the shelf and handed it to her, which she promptly left with and returned to her office.

“Who is that?” Olivier asked as soon as the office door was shut.

“That’s just Miss Smith, don’t mind her,” the clerk grumbled as he resumed his search. “The castle sent her down to audit our records and as soon as she saw that the past eighty years were not up to _her_ standards, she decided to go through them all. That was two weeks ago and she’s not even a third the way through.”

“She’s an accountant? She barely looks old enough—normally auditors are at least in their thirties.”

“She’s young, yes, but a rare talent at numbers apparently, or she wouldn’t be here.” The clerk let out a cough, wet and thin, before continuing on. “Ah, there we are. Peladon Shipping and Freight. Where is Antoine? I have here that usually he comes in person.”

“He’s tied up at the moment, I’m afraid,” Olivier apologized. “Some bloke along the western shores died and there’s a scramble to renegotiate contracts with his heir.”

“That would explain why we have less traffic than usual; be sure to send our regards involving his new position. Name please?”

Olivier gave the clerk his name and standing and watched as the dues were recorded as being paid. “Thanks; now would you mind telling me if there are still those rooms above the guild’s hall for rent my uncle told me about?”

“Payment’s on the honor system, though it’s not exactly prime housing so it’s not that much a bother,” the clerk replied. “Don’t leave a mess and don’t bring in whores—those are usually the two big ones.”

“Since I’m not an animal in either sense, I think I’m safe. Thank you,” Olivier quipped. He bid the man goodbye and went for the stairs. He nearly took a step down, but turned on his heel and double-backed towards the office with the young accountant. He knocked on the door and opened it slightly, just enough to see part of the inside wall. “Excuse me, but do you have a minute?”

“Not at the moment,” she replied, unseen. “Who are you?”

“Olivier Lakertya; I’m a visiting merchant from Rhylls. I only wanted to ask how it is you’re the one auditing the books and not some shriveled old prune. It’s not every day I see someone so young with so much responsibility.”

The desk chair squeaked as Astra stood up and the creaking of the floorboards betrayed her crossing the room. She opened the door a bit more so that she could peer out at the man. Dark hair and olive skin, with the clothing and carry of someone who was one of the higher-ups in his company despite a young face and hard-worked muscle. She looked at him critically and frowned.

“My parents discovered my gift for numbers at an early age, and it has been developed to the point that the marquis wants me as his internal accountant, to help ease the transition for when he passes the marquisate to his daughter in a few years.”

“That sounds like a terrible amount of work.”

“I manage. If that is all…”

Olivier shook his head. “When do you stop with your books? I’d like to treat you to dinner, if you’ll allow it. No catch—I just enjoy intelligent company, and you don’t easily find that on the road.”

“As long as you can promise me we won’t get interrupted by some angry wife or jilted lover. I’m young, but I’m aware of the ‘ _one in every city’_ stereotype.”

“If I had a woman in every city, then I’d never be able to take a holiday in my life,” he snorted. A pause settled between them, during which Olivier felt something nudging inside the front part of his brain. He shook his head gently and shrugged it off. “When the clock bells toll six, I’ll be waiting at the pub two doors down. If you want to have dinner, join me. If not, then I wish you well Miss Smith.” He bowed his head and left, feeling the young woman’s eyes on him as he walked down towards the staircase.

* * *

“It’s been too long, Clara,” the Marquis scowled as he stared out the window. He narrowed his glare down upon the city below, bathed in red and dusted in white. “Every time we send a messenger she says that she needs more time. If it weren’t for the fact I know her hand well, I’d go and don armor myself and break down the guild door.”

“Calm down,” the Marchioness said. She was sitting up in bed, reading by lamplight as she went over some figures their daughter had sent them. Spectacles sat perched on the tip of her nose, something she allowed very few to see. “Have you looked over these numbers? The Merchant’s Guild is going to be glad she went over this, because now I think we can zero in on why their figures are occasionally off. I just didn’t realize it went back _this far_.”

“Out of all the guilds, they’ve been historically the most shrewd when it comes to their numbers,” he replied sourly. “They take care of their own and keep things restrictive to outsiders, both guild-wise and concerning Kasterborous’s borders. It wouldn’t surprise me if she stumbles upon something big and they kidnap her, thinking she’s no more than an upstart young woman, and then we never see her again.”

“Stars above, _Johan_ , she can handle it,” she sighed. “She keeps on responding to our letters, so as long as she does that, let things happen. She’s no longer a child tugging at your cape.”

“…but she’s still one of my stars,” he argued gently. The Marquis walked from the window to the bedside, sitting down next to his wife and picking up her hand to leave tender kisses on the palm. “I shall always worry about them, no matter how old, nor how far-off our owlets fly from the nest.”

“Come to bed,” the Marchioness requested. “We should get some sleep before we lose track of time and our youngest comes over from the nursery to wake us. He’s the one that won’t forgive you staying up at all hours worrying—Astra understands better than you think, but she also knows she has a job to do.”

“As you wish, dearest,” he said. He went around to his side of the bed while she put down the papers and her spectacles before snuffing out the lamp. They laid curled up together, with her arms wrapped around him to soothe his troubles. She recited a poem in the ceremonial tongue into his hair, her words halting and accented, calming her husband to sleep.

* * *

Astra stepped into the pub and scanned the main room in an attempt to find her dinner partner. She finally found him, sitting in a booth with a tankard of ale in his hand.

“Getting started without me?” she teased as she sat down. The waitress came over and brought Astra her own drink, after which the two patrons ordered their food.

“You sure you can handle that?” Olivier joked as Astra took a sip of ale. She raised her eyebrows in something akin to horror, making him laugh. “No, I’m just messing with you—you’re young for an accountant of your standing, but you’re not a kid. Even an idiot can tell that.” He watched as her brows lowered and she stared into her drink. “So tell me: what do your parents do that allowed them to figure out that you had a gift for numbers? Most people I know that run audits are at least twice your age, but to be so young with so much responsibility… your parents had to have been in the right place at the right time to get you the training.”

“They’re… servants, up at the castle,” she muttered. “It’s a bit hard to explain.”

“It’s okay—my dad was from a long line of footmen, gardeners, cooks, and maids before he met my mum, so I know all about how duties tend to fan out and bleed over. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he assured. “It makes sense though; I take it there’s a schoolhouse at the castle for the servants’ children or…?”

Their food came, and Astra waited for the waitress to leave before continuing. “No; along with a select few, only the marquis’s children are looked over by a tutor. Most servants, if they have kids, send them to the schools in town. No one complains because we do have very good schools here in Gallifrey.”

“Then you were one of the lucky ones,” Olivier grinned before chomping down on a bite of potato. Astra laughed nervously.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” She took a drink of ale as she thought quickly, trying to think up of another topic. “So you… you seem pretty young to be considered a full traveling merchant with a kingdom-wide company and dues. Not a toddler like me, but close enough.”

“I work for my uncle,” he replied with a chuckle. “He never really had a family of his own, so I tend to do things for him sons normally would, like paying dues and being a company representative. He’s brokering a deal right now, so leave it to me to go around the kingdom making sure we’re squared away with all the northern guilds before the snows fly. Gallifrey was the last stop.”

“That’s exciting though, seeing the kingdom, the world, and all the different sights they have to offer,” she said. “I’ve only gone to Blackpoole, to visit my grandfather, and to Braxos and the capital for some business.” She ate a forkful of food and smiled kindly. “I imagine it’s difficult on your wife, since she obviously doesn’t travel with you. Does she stay in one place in order to be a stable routine for the kids, or is it not that time yet?”

“Now you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Olivier smirked. “I don’t have a missus, and not because I prefer a mister. It’s the Merchant’s Curse to stay single if you come into power within a company before marriage. Considering I’ve been working for my uncle over ten years now… it’s not been a life with much room for romancing.”

“Over ten years? Okay, I know we’ve been joking about how young I am, but…”

“I’m twenty-seven, for the record.” He cut some more meat and shoved it in his mouth. “Did you think I was more your age? That would have put the start of my apprenticeship at the start of my teens, and my uncle wanted to make sure I had plenty of formal schooling first before learning the trade.”

“Um, Olivier?” Astra wondered, shoving her food around her plate with her fork. “How old do you think I am?”

“Twenty-three or twenty-four; I mean, you have to be certified by the Royal University, yeah?”

She stared at the tabletop, not wanting to look him in the eyes. “I’m certified, that’s true, but I was able to take classes early and sit exams before everyone else.”

“Astra…? How old _are_ you?” he asked in trepidation.

“Nineteen,” she replied quietly. “I turn twenty in the summer.”

Olivier watched as blush began to travel up her neck and down her ears. She was a very different Astra than the one that sat down, which made him reach across the table and gently place his hand on hers.

“Hey, that’s _incredible_ ,” he told her gently. She could feel the emotion in his touch; he was genuinely impressed with her and not merely acting. “When’d you sit the certification exams?”

“Last year,” she said, “…but…”

“…but this means I think I’ve made friends with a very clever and mature person for her age,” he replied. He took back his hand and continued eating his dinner. “I don’t believe there’s anything stopping us from being friends is there? It’s not every day I have the pleasure to dine with a prodigy. Your family’s proud, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, they are,” she admitted. “I bet your parents are proud of you too, helping out in the family business.”

“Mum is, yeah—haven’t seen Dad since I was twelve… you know, the type that can’t sit still. Always on the move; it’s why he left home-service. My uncle’s a dad enough, so it’s not like it was all that earth-shattering.”

“That’s still sad,” she said.

“I came to terms with it a long time ago,” he told her. “Now I just know how to act for if I do get married, since I grew up watching what happens otherwise.”

“ _If_ you get married?” Astra wondered, genuinely surprised. “I’m shocked you’re not married already.”

“That’s a bit difficult to explain,” Olivier said.

“I’ve got time,” she replied. He watched the playfulness return to her eyes and he figured he might as well.

“If you must know, I do go out on dates—mostly old school mates and a woman that might catch my eye during my travels, but for the most part it’s dinner and drinks, like we’re doing now,” he said. “I have to wander around a lot, if you haven’t guessed, and although I’m not gone from home nearly as much as I could be, it does make me feel guilty about potentially cooping someone up while I still have to travel the kingdom.”

“Ever think about dating another merchant, or a woman from a merchant family? They’d understand that way of life, and might even be able to help, going out for you on an occasion or two.” Astra thought of her parents, sitting up in the castle, wondering if it would be her mother or father that would finally march down to the merchant’s guild to take her back home.

“Tried that—most of them are after company mergers and the rest don’t have anything to do with their family’s business for a reason.” He tapped the side of his head and rolled his eyes. “I want someone who would be there for _me_ , not my uncle’s company, and that I can have a conversation with. Genuine love isn’t always a thing we find, though it would be nice.”

“If it helps any, by talking to you I can at least tell you’re the marrying type, so at least you don’t have the ‘ _one in every city_ ’ thing going for you,” she said, voice very matter-of-fact. “My sister is not the marrying type, and there’s a difference. Trust me.”

“What, is she a nun?”

Astra almost choked on her drink. “No! Oh, that’s a funny one though!” She wiped her face with her napkin before continuing. “We’re twins, you see, and because we’re not the same, we have to be nearly the opposite. She’s in the Kasterborsian Border Forces, helping to hammer back foreign soldiers that attempt to invade.”

“Your poor mum and dad: one daughter given to the marquis’s service at home and the other in his service in some ditch fighting Daleks. They must be beside themselves.”

“There’s six of us, so if one or two of us never marry, it won’t affect their getting grandchildren, only the number.”

Olivier’s eyebrow quirked in suspicion. “Six? Not many servants I know of have the time to birth and rear six children.”

“My father was an old retainer by the time my mother came into his life,” she replied without missing a beat. “The marquisate allows old and loyal retainers to receive special privileges, you know.”

“…like having their daughter given an advanced education in numbers,” he smirked.

“Exactly,” she chuckled back. Astra adverted her eyes for a moment, staring off at a point just beyond the edge of the table. “I know we agreed no catch, but this does feel an awful lot like a date anyways.”

“At least we’re both aware then,” Olivier said solemnly. “Enough about that—tell me about this old retainer father of yours and his young love who had no issues bearing his children despite his advanced age.”

“He mostly does clerical work, but he’s not _that_ terribly old. One of the first memories I have is me in one arm, my sister in another, and our elder sister atop his shoulders…”

They talked for a while yet, Astra craftily dodging whole truths about her family and Olivier regaling stories of his travels. By the time the pub man had to turn them out it was late into the night. A light snow was beginning to fall, leaving a crust upon the street as they walked along.

“Does the sky always look like this?” Olivier asked as he looked up at the mauve-grey clouds. “It looks so _red_.”

“Then you’ve never been this far north?” Astra wondered. He shook his head. “We have an atmospheric condition that allows the sky to turn red at night. It’s purple in the evening and red after dark, and the Festival of the Violet Sky is soon, when the twilight dominates most of the daylight hours, which is a beautiful sight. I’ve heard that further north beyond the borders the sky keeps the reddish tint even in the daytime.”

“Who told you that?”

“The castle tutor—he was a captive of the Cybera Kingdom for over three years.” She stopped in front of the guild hall. “I’m afraid this is where I leave you; pretty boring, huh?”

“You’re not going home?”

“Not until I’m done with the audit—until then I’ve got one of the rooms above the hall.”

“…I have one of the rooms above the hall,” he replied. He paused and cleared his throat. “I was thinking about going for a walk anyhow; take in some of the architecture before I leave tomorrow, so you can go up first if you want.”

“Are you sure?” Astra asked, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“I’m sure,” Olivier said. He bent down and kissed his date on the cheek. “Maybe I’ll see you again another time.”

“I’d like that,” she blushed. She watched him as he walked off, making sure he turned the corner before she dashed into the guild hall and up to the floor with the rooms. Once she got to hers at the end of the corridor she locked herself in and only then could she allow herself to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually don’t do the whole “face claim” thing, mainly because I just don’t know about all the various actors/actresses that other people seem to, but Olivier (pronounced the French o-liv-EE-ay, instead of the British ol-IH-ver) Lakertya has always looked like Luke Pasqualino in my head, so it’s like D’Artagnan just treated a tall, willowy 19yo Clara Oswald to dinner and there’s something about that which seems interesting.


	29. A Day Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following is pretty much a bunch of fluff, so as to not be so heavy on actual plot things. It also contains something readers of the prompt fills might recognize, but in its full form.

It was a quiet morning, not long after the birth of the Marquis and Marchioness’s son, when the march’s hereditary ruler decided that it was going to be an extra day of rest for both him and his wife. He heard his young son’s fussing in the cot on the other side of the room, causing him to disentangle himself from the Marchioness and go to the boy.

“There, there… Papa’s here,” he assured the infant. He picked the lad up and bounced him in the crook of his arm. Sterling quieted soon thereafter, his protests turning into content gurgles. His father smiled at the change in his behavior, the expression only widening as he felt the Marchioness’s arms wrap around his middle.

“He’s calm now—come to bed,” she mumbled into his back. “We still have lots to do when the sun rises.”

“I think this is going to be a day for the three of us,” he explained. The Marquis turned around and saw his tousle-haired wife, still half asleep as she stood there. “What do you say? Have a lie-in and relax for a change? We don’t have anything pressing to attend to, only paperwork.”

“That would be lovely… but come back to bed first.”

“In a moment, dearest.”

As the Marchioness shuffled back to their bed, the Marquis placed their son down in his cot, gently rubbing the boy’s stomach to keep him quiet. When it was clear he was fully satiated, the father picked up the cot and moved it over next to the bed, allowing him to watch Sterling as he laid down, his wife’s arms clinging to him while her forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.

Yes, he could handle raising a son, and yes, it was going to be a good thing to take a day to themselves.

* * *

When the girls found out about the day off, they were _irritated_. Tara and Lena jumped on their parents’ bed in protest— _they_ needed a day without work too.

“No, I am going to have breakfast with you and send you off with Sir Daniel, and afterwards I’m coming back to join Mama,” the Marquis scolded. He was pulling on his robe, making it so that all the Marchioness had to do was sit up in bed holding Sterling while waiting for her breakfast to arrive.

“Papa, why can’t we have a day off from our studies too?” Astra asked quietly, tugging on his robe.

“Because your studies are planned by Sir Daniel, not me,” he replied. “None of you are yet at the age when you can start choosing when and how long your breaks are.”

“Ooooh! When’s that, Papa?!” Tara wondered while she kept bouncing about, excited at the prospect.

“Knowing Sir Daniel? After you’ve passed the leaving exams for secondary school,” the Marchioness frowned. “Now stop this; I have to feed your brother before my breakfast comes. Go on to breakfast with Papa.”

“…but _Mama_ …”

“No buts, Lena.” She watched as her daughters flopped down on the mattress, allowing the bed to be still once more. They looked incredibly crestfallen, so she motioned with her free hand for them to come to her. “Alright now—kisses and hugs for the day! Can’t start without them, can we?”

All three girls perked up at that, although slightly, and went to their mother’s side. After giving her big hugs and adoring kisses, with their baby brother receiving gently pecks on the forehead, the children were ushered out by their father, leaving mother and son alone.

“You’re so lucky to have them, and they’re lucky to have you,” the Marchioness told the baby in her arms. She then began to feed him, watching carefully as the infant happily sucked down his milk. “Did you know that Mama and Papa didn’t have siblings? We had friends, but not sisters or brothers. They weren’t bad childhoods, but it’s much more fun having them around, don’t you think?”

The baby in her arms stared at her with something akin to sarcasm. Considering there was no way he could have gained that particular skill so quickly, she brushed it off and brought him to her shoulder for a burping.

“Don’t you dare start sassing me back _now_ , young man,” she chuckled. The Marchioness laid her son back down again and continued feeding him, having barely finished by the time her breakfast arrived.

“Are you well, milady?” came the voice of a maid at the door, accompanied by a knock. The staff was very careful when it came to privacy, which was something their liege lord and lady couldn’t be more grateful for.

“Yes; please come in,” the Marchioness answered. The door opened fully and a maid walked in, pushing a small trolley laden with breakfast things. She brought it over towards her lady and carefully set a tray down on the mother’s lap.

“Is chamomile fine today, milady?” the maid checked before pouring tea.

“Oh, yes please.” The maid finished setting up tea and placed it on the tray. Once she had everything the Marchioness required, she stood there awkwardly. “Yes? What is it?”

“Um… is it alright if I hold the young lord for a little bit while you eat?” she asked. “He reminds me of my cousin’s bairn.”

“There should be no harm in it,” the Marchioness said. She passed Sterling to the maid and exhaled happily as she picked up her fork and knife. “Eating with two hands is such a luxury, you have no idea.”

“I can imagine, milady,” the maid chuckled. She then continued to fawn over the baby while his mother ate. It wasn’t until the Marchioness was done with her breakfast did the Marquis return from his, taking in the scene with a slight bit of confusion as well as amusement.

“Do my eyes deceive me Clara, or has our son begun to attract women a bit early in life?” he asked. The maid blushed and passed the boy back to his father, immediately working to clean up from the Marchioness’s meal.

“You know how babies attract people left and right,” the Marchioness said. She watched as her husband sat down on the edge of the mattress, seeing the glint in his eyes as he observed their child, and sighed contently. “It seems he has Papa perfectly under his spell.”

“His sisters must be giving him pointers,” he replied. The maid left with the trolley, which gave the parents some alone time once more. “He’s beautiful, Clara.”

“Johan, he looks like you.”

“Now, maybe, but no matter what he grows into, he will still be a vision of perfection because of you and your tireless efforts.” He leaned to tenderly kiss her lips, aware of the gurgling, insistent babe in his arms. “Don’t be silly, starlet—you are your mother’s child through and through, as are your sisters, and none of you would exist had it not been for the generosity in which she affords me her love and devotion. None of us would be here in turn, and it is such an honor that I can barely express my gratitude in words.”

“Papa is being a romantic again, isn’t he Sterling?” the Marchioness laughed. She accepted her son into her arms and played with his tiny hands as the Marquis returned to bed, sliding under the blankets and wrapping his arms around her waist, placing his head in her lap.

“Papa will _always_ be a romantic when it comes to Mama,” he murmured. “The stars in my sky shall understand one day, though my moon, as bright and comforting as I find her to be, is too humble to see how truly important she is to me.” Sterling wiggled and stuck his tongue out, licking his lips and cooing softly. “No, I am not being silly. As I said: you shall understand one day, years from now, possibly after you are grown and have a moon and stars of your own.” He placed a hand on his son’s head and stroked his brow with his thumb.

“Let me put him back in his cot,” she insisted after a while. He loosened his grip, allowing her to shuffle out of bed and place Sterling down before returning to his side. She curled up within his grasp, pressing their chests together while they silently enjoyed their lie-in. It was faint, but the Marchioness could hear her husband whispering over her hair in the ceremonial tongue, wishing their marriage and health would be long-lasting and that their children would learn from their example. He truly _was_ a romantic fool after all.

* * *

It took until late morning for the march’s rulers to disentangle themselves from one another long enough to dress for the day. Once out of their nightdresses and into something more acceptable to be seen in, the couple took their son as they ambled about the castle, eventually making their way to lunch. The girls were still sour with them for not making the day one for the entire family to take a break, though that did not matter. They’d forget it within a week, possibly only a few days if their parents were lucky, and then there would be nothing to worry about.

After lunch the Marquis and Marchioness went on another stroll, though this one led outside into the sparse late-winter gardens. They wrapped themselves in cloaks and Sterling in a warm blanket, huddling together while walking along. The snowmelt was coming early this year, which meant for an earlier harvest in the farmlands and more time for livestock to roam free while grazing. It had its detractions as well as benefits, but it was certainly a better alternative to a shortened growing season.

Deciding it was time for a nap, the Marquis led his wife back into the castle and up to their chambers. The Marchioness fed Sterling and placed the sleepy newborn in his cot, rocking the babe carefully.

“He’s so well-behaved,” she marveled. Her husband came over and rested his chin on her crown, reaching around to hold her hips possessively. She then turned around to fully face him, twisting the end of his whiskers affectionately. “His _papa_ , however, is forever naughty.”

“Wouldn’t have me any other way,” he grinned. The Marquis scooped up his bride and brought her to bed, climbing over her nearly as soon as he placed her down. He kissed her behind the ear, then down her jaw and throat, only pausing when he reached the space between her breasts.

“What is it?” she asked, absentmindedly playing with his curls. His whiskers were soft and ticklish against her skin, though the pressure from his head threatened to cause her nursing breasts to ache.

“Nothing,” he said. Noting how long he had been laying there, he rolled off her and nestled himself into her side, using her shoulder as a pillow. “Forever marveling at my fortune, is all. I shall always cherish moments like this, even when we are both white-haired and have grandstarlets running circles around us, because we are truly blessed to have such a life.”

“…a life of privilege and governance?”

“No… a life of love and happiness, with many children and a devoted marriage,” he clarified. “Life as nobility has an abundance of responsibilities and restrictions, not allowing for complete individuality and the freedom small and middling folk achieve. Yes, we have a terrible amount of power and comforts, but at a steep price. The fact I am holding the very one I am devoted to is miraculous.” He squeezed her a bit tighter before beginning to trace gentle circles over her hipbone. “I want to never forget this, even when age takes my memory and I have one foot in the earth.”

“My idiot,” she crooned affectionately.

“My Clara, oh my Clara,” he echoed. He then propped himself up on his elbow, gazing down into her eyes. “May I bless you?”

“Depends on what you mean,” she said, more curious than wary.

“The children’s ancient ancestors, the chiefs and warlords whose blood they carry, knew how important women were to their survival as a people,” he explained quietly. “An ancient Gallifreyan would recite spells over loved one, in an effort to ensure their health and integrity, a husband blessing his wife especially.”

“So it’s not a creative euphemism?”

“Not in the slightest.” He watched as she scrunched her nose in thought, processing the surprisingly new piece of information.

“Why have you not asked me about this before?” she wondered.

“It never seemed like the right time until now.”

“I’ll accept that,” she nodded. “Go ahead, Johan.”

He smiled at her adoringly and fully sat up, using that as his cue to begin. As he swished his hand around in the air, he spoke words ancient and powerful, beyond what his wife had heard in her lessons in the ceremonial tongue. Golden dust seemed to pour from his fingertips, swirling around in the air.

Continuing the low, rapid chanting, the Marquis took the hand he generated the magic from and collected it, carefully spreading it over the Marchioness’s body. It tingled as it went through her clothes and settled itself underneath her skin, a sensation that she was certain she could never describe to anyone else due to the lack of words within the common tongue. He then bent over her, pausing his reciting long enough to leave a slow kiss on her forehead. As his lips made contact with her skin, she could feel the magic of the spell concentrating at his touch.

He slowly moved down to her lips, with his own barely ghosting over her skin as he whispered his spell. After pressing their lips together he took her hands and left new kisses on her knuckles. He went on towards her heart, her stomach, where she knew her womb laid, and finally her feet. A few more words were spoken over her and the Marchioness watched as the last of the magic entered her where her husband’s kisses made the action easier. It ended and a jolt of euphoria shook her, making her gasp in surprise.

“How do you feel?” the Marquis wondered, taking one of her hands in both of his.

“Wonderful,” she breathed. She waited until he laid back down and curled up in her side until she elaborated. “It was beyond description; the ancient Gallifreyans knew how to impress someone.”

“It fell out of favor with the general people because some people who led long and prosperous lives had never been blessed in the traditional manner, while others still faltered despite the ceremony being nearly a daily occurrence. Different people react differently to the spells, as with anything.”

“Either way, it’s a lovely experience.” She curled her fingers around his shoulder and closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift closer to sleep. “No wonder the Ancients didn’t last—they were concentrating on things that didn’t matter.”

“As wise and powerful as they were, my ancestors were conceited, malicious, selfish people,” he scowled. “In many ways, their society deserved to collapse upon itself. The children are better off with them being distant history.”

“They survive in your wrath, dear,” the Marchioness suggested. “The rulers of Ancient Gallifrey may be gone, but you are their kin, as are our children, and I should hope that whomever gets on your bad sides are loathe to do so.”

“The only trait I hope survives,” he murmured. The couple fell asleep together, not bothering to wake until their daughters were released from the custody of their tutor and tackled their parents. It took nearly no time at all for the Marquis to begin a retaliation based in tickles and laughter, the girls shrieking while the Marchioness went to check on their baby brother’s nappy.

The day off had been a restful one, with the Marquis and Marchioness being able to relax, spend time with one another, and take time for their children as well. Every so often from then on, the Marchioness would occasionally ask her husband to perform the ancient spells again. He would oblige, placing all his devotion into the words he whispered over her body as the golden swirls of dust entered her body, one of the last vestiges of an ancient peoples, hopefully filling her with even more good fortune than before.


	30. The Accountant and the Merchant (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following is a starlet/OC-heavy chapter, and I do apologize for the lack of our fave Marquis and Marchioness. They shall return shortly.

Morning broke and Astra rose to a dark, bleak, drafty world. She put a couple logs in the fire, watching it flare up as she dressed herself and washed her face. By the time she was eating her breakfast of dried fruit, salted bacon, and bread left to sit atop the stove to soften, the room had become warm enough that she was loathe to leave it. She dawdled as much as she could before wrapping herself up in her shawl and heading over towards the office she was leant.

Looking out over the atrium of the guild hall, Astra could see how desolate and empty it was compared to the day before. Not a single soul was down there, not even one that was cleaning up while the snows kept people away, and the pure silence that accompanied that was odd. Even when there was “no one” around in the castle, there was always _someone_ wandering about and making noise, no matter how quietly. Astra felt as though she was going to get a _vast_ amount of work done now that there was nothing to bother her.

The morning passed with little incidence. She stayed in her borrowed office nearly the entire time, only going into the chilly main of the building to fetch new records to comb through. It was almost time for her normal lunch break when there was a shy knock on the door, making her jump in surprise.

“Stars in the sky! Who is it?!” she snapped. Astra bent down, raising her skirt to finger the hilt of the knife strapped to her calf, though straightened when she heard the voice.

“I come in peace,” Olivier said. He opened the door and poked his head in, holding up a cloth-wrapped parcel within her line of vision. “I thought you’d like company after a morning alone.”

“Thank the gods,” she breathed. “Come on in—I was just thinking about lunch.” Astra stood and stoked the fire that was crackling happily in the room’s stove. Almost all the individual rooms had one, thank goodness, making it so that she didn’t have to bring her blankets and cloak down with her while she worked. When she turned around, she saw that Olivier had brought a couple of steaming meat pies, along with two stoneware mugs and a container of tea. “Oh, wow… you shouldn’t have…”

“I insist,” he said. “It’s not like I have much to do anyhow; I woke up this morning to find the place deserted and Totter’s Pass blocked. I’m stranded until the snows stop long enough to dig a trench.”

“That’s awful—at least you weren’t _in_ the pass when it began snowing,” she replied. As he talked, she had brushed her mind up against his; he was telling the truth, just as he was the night before. Reading certain things, such as truthfulness and sincerity, didn’t take much probing when it came to most minds, and his being from Rhylls made it highly unlikely he knew how to mislead one of the Ancient Gallifreyan gifts she possessed. She took a sip of the tea, surprised at the flavor. “This is the Marchioness’s tea!”

“The woman at the shop said it worked best with the pies’ flavor,” he claimed. “Is it true that the Marquis blended this for her?”

“Yes, and there is a blend she created for him that’s rather strong and spiced. That was about… nine years ago now, if I remember correctly.” She thought about how old Seren was, since it was around their mid-teens when Lena, Tara, and herself had pieced everything together, a thought that made her shudder internally every time it came to mind. “They’re very popular around here. Some even take the blends with them during travels as gifts or because they like it that much.”

“They sound like a lovely pair to be governed by, that Marquis and Marchioness,” Olivier nodded. He took a sip of his own tea and seemed to understand the emotion put into the flavor. “We have a council of serdars looking after Rhylls, and none of them can claim something as fanciful as this.”

“You think it’s fanciful?” she giggled.

“Fanciful and utterly romantic, now that I taste it,” he laughed. “Now I’m glad I caught you going into your office when I came downstairs to inquire about the state of the roads, or else I wouldn’t know that’s the truth. I trust you, Astra—you’ve grown up close to the finer things, but obviously don’t crave them. How many people can say that?”

“…and how can you tell?” She let out another snicker, hoping he would give some silly answer. The one he gave instead surprised her.

“You’re an _accountant_.”

She blinked, slightly taken aback. “…what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not many accountants I know got into the profession because they were searching for honor, glory, and praise,” Olivier elaborated. “People do it because they’re good at it, and sometimes in order to help others. You don’t seem like the kind of person to manipulate books for their own gain, so I find the fact you’re shaping your life to help out others very humbling. Now you can’t tell me that humble people crave fancy things.”

“You’re right—they don’t,” Astra replied. She felt her face turn warm as blush rose up from her neck. It was true that what she was doing was all to help her parents and sister, though he couldn’t know that. Not yet, anyhow.

“May I ask a question?” he wondered. She nodded. “Is it alright if I stay with you? You know, here, in the office, during the day while waiting for the pass to clear? I have a couple books with me, and I can do things like keep the fire going and get dinner.”

“I do have an allowance, you know…”

“Yes, but it saves you time and keeps me busy—I say it’s a win-win. Besides, I have to take this stuff back to the tavern anyhow, since it’s only on-loan.”

She thought about that for a moment. “The tavern’s a couple blocks away—the snow hasn’t made it difficult to get to, has it?”

“No more difficult than in Karass, and that’s much further south than this,” he shrugged. “I was told it will get worse before it lets up though.”

“That’s also true.” Astra gently probed his emotions; there was nothing there that was cause for alarm, so she relented. “I don’t mind if you stay—the lack of noise has been _maddening_.”

“A castle never really sleeps, does it?”

“Not in the slightest.” It took until he began walking towards the door so he could get his books before she spoke up again. “I… um… just so that you know… being employed directly by the Marquis and Marchioness means I need to abide by a Lady’s rules. If someone walks in…”

“…they’ll find that we’re behaving, don’t worry,” he finished. Olivier left with a wink, causing Astra to blush even more.

It was a good thing she was alone, because that meant no one was there to watch as she shrunk down into her chair in complete, utter embarrassment.

* * *

Lena snapped her fingers, bringing the Marquis’s thoughts back to the office. He had been staring out the window, down upon the city below, frowning as he fretted over his unaccounted-for daughter.

“Papa—the schematics are in here, not carved into the snow,” the Earlessa said. Her father’s attention span was restored, his thoughts somewhat returning to the room.

“My apologies, starlet—I was lost in thought.”

“She’s fine, Papa; Astra will return to the castle after the snows let up. She still has plenty to go through, after all.”

“Am I really that obvious?” he wondered.

“Yes, you are,” his eldest deadpanned. “How come you don’t worry about Tara, but you worry about Astra?”

“They are very different people for being twins…”

“You’re not correct, but you’re not incorrect either,” Lena said. “If it wasn’t for the fact that Tara keeps her hair short now, you would _still_ need to keep track of them using their dress colors despite them acting different as can be.”

The Marquis grunted, his feathers having been absurdly ruffled. “Who _ever_ put such an idea in your head?! I can tell my starlets apart from one another and I always have!”

“Now that is a bald-faced lie—get back to work, Papa, or you’re going to drive yourself mad.”

* * *

Night fell and Astra and Olivier were sitting on the floor of her office, having just finished their dinner. Backs propped up against the wall, they laughed as they exchanged stories, having a grand time.

“Okay, now your turn,” Olivier said.

“Oh, I can’t,” Astra blushed. “It’s too embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing? Something is more embarrassing than being forced to sail to the Gelth Islands starkers?” he snarked. She elbowed him lightly in retaliation.

“That’s simply _absurd_ ,” she defended. “I just don’t think I have anything that comes even close to that. Most of my life _has_ been spent in Castle Gallifrey, you know.”

“You’ve been on holiday—you’ve told me as much.”

“True, though…” She trailed off, attempting to recall something. “Oh! There’s the time there was a visitor in the castle from… gosh, I can’t remember… and our family met him, and the way my baby brother was clinging to my elder sister made him assume that he was _her_ child, not our parents’!”

“Wait… I thought you said that there wasn’t that much of an age difference between them!”

“Thirteen years, but I guess my sister looked to be older than she was at the time,” she said. “He danced around the subject all night until finally right before dinner my brother referred to Mama as such and the look on his face said it all! I don’t think he’s returned since then.”

“How did your sister take it?”

“She was _furious_.” Astra giggled, remembering the man in great detail. He had been mortified when he had finally realized how old the siblings were, let alone that they were siblings, that he was still avoiding them at the capital, or at least that’s what Lena claimed. She then looked over at the remains of their dinner and sighed. “I guess it’s time to clean up and get to bed.”

“I think we can handle that,” Olivier replied. He helped her stand and they picked up the room until it was neat and tidy again. They both carried their things up to where the rooms were, with Astra thinking to herself all the while.

‘ _Olivier has been so nice to me… I wonder how I can make it up to him_ ,’ she mused. An idea quickly came to her head and it spilled out before she could think about reconsidering. “Hey Olivier? The room I was put in ended up having two beds—save on fuel and take the other one; I’ve got space enough.”

“You sure?” he wondered. “There’s nothing in the rules against being roommates, is there?”

“If there is, I will have to mention all the times I had to share with my brothers, along with the fact I’ve got a mean right hook.”

“Alright, you win.” He chuckled, placing his hand on the door to his room. “I’ll be over in around ten, okay?”

“Sounds good,” she agreed, making sure he saw which room she entered.

Working quickly, she changed into her nightdress and put more logs in the stove, which was crackling happily by the time she pulled back the bedding on her mattress and crawled in, covering herself up to help preserve her modesty. There was a knock on the door just as she was reaching underneath the bedframe to get a book. She picked it up and laid down, the only parts of her sticking out from under the blanket being her head and hands.

“Come in!” she said. Olivier cautiously entered the room, his bag slung over his shoulder and blanket roll under his arm. Sure enough, there were two single beds in the room, on opposite walls, while a fire roared happily in the stove on the wall across from the door. A changing screen, a privy screen, a desk and chair, and even sidetables for each bed; it was definitely one of the nicer rooms he’d seen.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you had the room,” he marveled, closing the door behind him. He laid out his bedroll on the empty mattress and flopped down. “These must be the rooms that always get snatched up before my uncle and I can even think about them. Most of the time we have to share one large, lumpy bed.”

“Really?” Astra wondered. “That doesn’t seem very fair.”

“Fair or not, it’s just the way it is,” he shrugged. “Remember you’re talking about cheap lodging provided by a guild—businessmen can be a stingy bunch.”

“Well, either way, I’m glad to help out a friend,” she said. “Maybe you and your uncle will have a change in luck.”

“Maybe… oh, and Astra?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s ‘Olly’; my friends call me ‘Olly’.”

She smiled at that, her heart skipping a beat as she repeated his request. “Alright… Olly…” She brushed her mind against his once again, picking up on something almost shy and self-conscious. It was a comfort as she hunkered back down with her book—this was definitely the right decision.

* * *

As the night wore on, the winds and snow grew fiercer. The stove’s fire began to die and cold started to seep in through the wood and plaster of the building level. Olivier laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling while contemplating the young woman whom he was currently rooming with. Astra was a kind person, one of the kindest he had ever known, and that wasn’t her only good quality. He felt incredibly fortunate, and he hoped that it wasn’t just a fluke.

Noticing that the stove was nearly down to embers, Olivier left his bed and went to go remedy the problem. He opened the metal door and took a couple logs from the container nearby, putting them in one at a time and poking what was left of the fire in order to stoke it. The new logs caught and soon the stove was warming the room properly again. He was about to go back to bed when he saw Astra out of the corner of his eye, curled up into a tight ball and visibly shivering underneath her blanket. Grabbing his blanket, he went to her side and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Astra, you awake?”

“Sorry—am I being loud?” she asked sleepily.

“No… just… straighten your legs and move a little closer to the wall.”

“Hmm…?” She did so, although it was clear she wasn’t sure as to why. He then spread his blanket over her and laid down under it, edging up behind her in order to share warmth. When her body began to tense as he put an arm around her, he grabbed a fistful of her blanket, making it clear that it was between them.

“Buildings made of stone react to winter differently than those made of wood and plaster,” he explained quietly. “Guild lodging gets draft easily; it’s not surprising you’re over here freezing your toes off if you’ve never had to deal with something like this before.”

She didn’t answer, but she also did not try to push him away. Eventually she stopped shivering and rolled over to face him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Impulsively, Olivier went and shifted in the bed, gently rolling Astra on her back and situating himself over her. He then leaned down and kissed her tenderly, exploring her mouth when her lips parted for him. When her chest began to press against his he stopped, realizing she was completely out of breath despite the kiss not being that intense. She was staring at him, her eyes wide as she tried to normalize her breathing again.

“Wait a moment, you’ve never been kissed before, have you?” he realized. She shook her head silently, expression more confused than anything. He pressed a kiss to her forehead in an apology before laying down to the side, resting his head on her shoulder. A sharp pain in the front of his brain made him wince, though it left just as suddenly as it came and he quickly forgot about it. “Here I thought there would have been a young footman or gardener that would have caught your eye before now, but I should have asked. I’m sorry—that was selfish.”

“There’s been no one, but I don’t mind. It just took me by surprise.” She leaned into him as she felt his fingers curve around her waist, holding her close. “This would definitely make Papa throw a fit.”

“Fathers tend to do that when it comes to their children,” Olivier agreed. “Then again, Uncle Antoine would probably be right beside him. He wants me to marry well, but I decided long ago who to look for.”

“…and who might that be?”

“A kind woman… one who is intelligent and interesting, and reminds me of Mum in all the right ways.” Astra snickered at that, unsure what to make of the statement.

“You want a younger version of your mum?” she laughed. When she saw his eyes grow wide as he stared at her, she quickly covered it up. “I know wanting someone _like_ a parent is different than wanting that _specific_ parent, but why? Everyone has a different reason.”

“Mum’s a strong woman, and she raised me by herself after Dad left,” he admitted. “Uncle Antoine helped a bit, since she’s his sister, but it was nothing compared to what she did.” He blushed slightly, embarrassed that he was even still talking, yet went on. “I admire her, and if I marry, I want it to be to a woman who is strong enough to stand on her own, because I will have to travel… and traveling can be dangerous.” He rested his forehead on her shoulder, hiding his face. “Dad showed me what not to do, and I don’t want to screw it up.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she assured. Stroking his hair, Astra craned her neck forward and kissed the top of his head. “Why is this all coming out now?”

“…because I’m really hoping this isn’t snow fever,” he answered, voice barely above a whisper. “As a disease of the brain, it’s quick and unforgiving—just like my want to be with you.”

“That’s alright,” she said. Shimmying down, she made sure to look Olivier in the eyes while she gently held his face so that he could not look away. “Can I just ask what about me reminds you so much of someone obviously very important to you?”

“You’re both accountants,” he replied simply.

At that she kissed him, and although it didn’t get further than their lips, she wouldn’t have argued if it had.


	31. The First Suitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had most of this chapter already finished, but with the lack of general updates I’ve had recently, I pulled myself together long enough to polish this one off.
> 
> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 68, Daniel at 51, Clara at 49, Martha at 46, a new character(!) at 28, Lena at 18, Astra/Tara at 16, Sterling at 12, Maglina/Oriana at 10, and Seren at 5.

It was a couple months after the coming-of-age ceremony of Lady Lena Anthea, Earlessa of Gallifrey and Heir to the March of Kasterborous, and things were much the same as they always were. The daily goings-on helped the young heir distract herself from the inevitable part of her job, the one that she dreaded not because it made her uncomfortable, but because she saw little point in it.

“We already had a ball after my ceremony,” she groused as a maid helped her squeeze into a corset. It arrived slightly tighter than she was normally used to, though there was no time to tailor it before the event. The Marchioness stood to the side, watching as her daughter’s scowl became increasingly pronounced, there in case Lena sent off the maid and decided to sit out the ball by hiding somewhere in the vast castle corridors.

“That was mainly attended by the local lesser lords and important businessmen,” the Marchioness insisted. “ _This_ is going to be attended by people from _all_ over the kingdom—think of it as a personal debutante ball.”

“That doesn’t make it any better, Mama,” Lena frowned. The maid finally finished securing the corset and tucked the ends of the ties underneath the garment. “Thank you for helping; these back-tie ones are _horrid_ to put on.”

“It’s not a problem, milady,” the maid curtseyed. “Would you like help with the dress since I’m here?”

“Yes, _please_. So far you have been the best part about tonight.” The maid held back a giggle and assisted her future liege lady in managing the fine fabric, which was a combination of rich blue and deep violet, using the couple extra inches she had over the Earlessa to easily lift it over her head while not ruining her hair in the process. Once the garment was in place to Lena’s specifications, the maid left, allowing the mother and daughter some private time before the ball.

“You can’t be sour all night,” the Marchioness warned. She watched as Lena sat down at her vanity and began applying rouge to her face. “It could be disastrous.”

“I know how to hold it in until after the last guest has retired for the night,” Lena fired back. She tried to ignore her mother’s presence, but that was impossible. “You’ve taught me well—I don’t expect I should cause a kingdom-wide incident simply because I attended a _ball_.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” the Marchioness scolded, recalling the public birthday ball her daughter threw two years prior. She waited until the teen was done painting her lips before placing her hands on her shoulders, locking eyes via the mirror. Those eyes—heavy-lidded and stormy—were filled with irritation and ire that only the young possessed. “This is your first society function as a full adult and I only want you to be careful. Someone will want to catch you off-guards.”

“I know, Mama.”

“You’ve been avoiding the guests that have been staying in the visitors’ wing.”

“The lands still need governing and I am capable of the work.”

“…and being social is _still_ your duty.” She pressed a kiss into Lena’s hair while squeezing her shoulders gently. “Please, now that there is life in the castle again, don’t let your pride ruin it. We all do things we don’t want to do, and sometimes they can lead to great happenings.”

“I doubt that.”

“I know seven young ones who wouldn’t exist today had I been given my first choice of husband, and a barony would still be under stewardship.” The Marchioness knew her daughter was aware of the details surrounding her parents’ early days of marriage, and that she had no room to argue. “Please, for me.”

“I shall, Mama,” Lena sighed. She leaned back in the chair and looked at herself in the vanity mirror. She could barely recognize her own face, though it was not because of the cosmetics—those she toyed with wearing every once in a while, whether she was going to court or staying in the offices. Lena was about to open her mouth to continue when the door to her room burst open and her youngest brother rushed in, crying about a stubbed finger. The young boy did not know what he had interrupted, and his sister thought that was ultimately for the better.

* * *

That night was a whirlwind of introductions and courtesies, all of which were borne with grace by one of the three hosts. The dinner feast, although grand, was simple by the standards of some in attendance, though the dancing portion more than made up for it. Something that no one could dispute was that Kasterborsian musicians were amongst the finest in the kingdom, with the ones in the Marquis and Marchioness’s employ regarded highly in turn.

“When did you become used to society functions, Lady Martha?” Lena wondered dully. She sipped her wine as the two watched the bustling hall whist standing to the side.

“I attended a couple parties that weren’t ‘society’ in my youth, but close enough to prepare me for them,” the Baroness claimed. “These simply aren’t your idea of fun and that’s fine.”

“Try telling that to Mama.”

“Clara knows better than both of us what’s important in this stage of things, so I’d rather go with her word over mine.” She glanced at the teen before giving her a gentle smile. “To think: the little girl I once met, whom accepted my role in her life immediately and without a second thought, is now a woman grown, standing beside me at a ball.”

“ _Now_ you’re sounding like Mama,” Lena smirked. The two shared a laugh before the Baron Coal-on-the-Hill returned with a drink for his wife and a stranger not far behind him.

“Here you are,” he said, handing the glass to the Baroness with a peck to her cheek. He then turned towards Lena, a look on his face that said he had been cornered. “This is Lord James Romlan, one of our neighbors’ sons. Lady Clara was the one who greeted his family earlier, but he was inquiring about you over by the drinks.” His former pupil knew the look on his face was not one he wore with ease, though very few knew how to read the man’s metal-studded and loose-skinned expressions.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord James,” she said with a slight curtsey. “I’m glad you could make it all this way for the occasion.” The guest took her hand, the one not occupied by her wineglass, and kissed it, giving her a cheeky grin.

“It’s a pity we had to miss such a precious gem as yourself at the National Ball,” he said. Getting a better look at him, Lena could see he was older than her by more than a few years, possibly ten if she stretched it, and he at least appeared to give off the air of being level-headed. “Are you planning on being formally presented next year?”

“I plan to rule come the day my parents step down from their position,” she replied icily. It was boring and nearly automatic, replying to such a statement, though the response she received from Lord James wasn’t one of disapproval, but one of cheerful bemusement.

“The rumors are true: your mother’s charm and your father’s steadfastness—the North will be in good hands one day.”

“Uh… thanks.” Lena’s ears began to turn pink, not knowing how to accept the compliment. She was so used to needing to argue her inheritance, yet this man seemed to accept it wholeheartedly.

“Would you care to dance?”

“Yes, please.” She allowed him to lead her out to the dance floor, where they cut into the current song with ease. As they danced, she gazed up at his face to see that he was admiring her. “What is it?”

“Merely impressed with the company, is all,” he replied. “I hope you weren’t waiting for someone else.” A pause. “Is there someone else?”

“No, I was not, and no, there is not,” she said. “My father made sure I was promised to no one, and few decide to approach me, meaning you’re in no danger except when it comes to Papa himself.”

“Papas are always like that when it comes to their daughters,” he claimed. “Mine will barely let my younger sister out of his sight, the poor thing. It will be a miracle if she marries before the age of thirty.”

“If she wants one, I’m sure she’ll find a marriage eventually,” she replied. Her heart grew fluttery the longer she danced and talked to him. After a few songs, a servant approached them, claiming that it was time for the Romlans’ departure. “Do you have to go?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” he said, the two walking towards the side of the hall. “We are staying with some family in the area—a serdar on Mama’s side—and we leave when they do.” He bent and kissed her knuckles again, keeping their gazes locked. “Until we meet again, Earlessa.”

“Until we meet again,” she echoed. Lena was only able to stay at the ball for another twenty minutes before she retreated up to the family’s private wing, so happy that she could barely mask her emotions when she invaded Astra’s room, finding her twin sisters chatting over their late-night cuppas, Seren asleep on the couch.

She was in _love_.

* * *

Soon as Lena had been led off to dance, the Baron cursed lowly in the ceremonial tongue. “I was hoping that wouldn’t happen.”

“She’s a smart girl, Daniel,” his wife reminded him. “James Romlan isn’t even the worst she could do—it’s not like he’s directly in line for the county, and his brother has sons.”

“…and Johan and Clara will never forgive us if she becomes an aunt to children older than Oriana,” he defended. “I don’t like it.”

“Then why’d you bring him over?”

“He wasn’t going to leave me alone unless I did, so it was either invite him and save face, or get on the wrong side of the Count and have him push his way in anyhow.” He scanned the crowd, attempting to find either the Marquis or Marchioness to warn them.

“Daniel, _relax_ … she’ll be fine.” The Baroness frowned into her drink as she came to a realization. “You’re not going to be this way with _our daughter_ , are you?”

“If we’re lucky, Sterling won’t let another man come within thirty feet of her the moment she turns eighteen,” he said. At least they had the peace-of-mind knowing the sort of boy who already had his respectful and adoring eyes on their only child—Lena’s lack of _anyone_ made her a source of worry for him as well as her parents. “They’re all like my children, Martha; you know that.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she assured him. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught the tall figure of the Marquis swooping towards them. Dressed in the darkest blue and surest crimson, he was like a walking depiction of the kingdom’s night skies.

“Who is that dancing with my daughter?” he hissed, keeping his voice hushed.

“Count Romlan’s younger son,” the Baron replied. “He forced my hand when it came to introductions, and him charming Lena is the last thing I want, trust me.”

The concerned father’s face twisted in worry, his eyes bulging and his brows rising, his paternal instinct overtaking any sort of ire he might have had towards his children’s tutor. “Why is that? I haven’t heard ill of the Romlans, but the younger son…”

“I don’t know enough about his personality to say whether or not I like him,” the Baron explained.

“He was _charming_ ,” the Baroness cut in. “I don’t think it’s an act, not to mention the fact that he _has_ to be on his best behavior here whether he likes it or not.” She put a hand on her husband’s arm, attempting to settle him down. “Let this be the opportunity to see how the younger Romlan is; none of us know what the future holds when it comes to inheritance.”

“I guess…” he muttered. She then turned her attention over to the Marquis.

“You too, Johan; don’t make me drag Clara over here.”

“Martha, I’m perfectly capable of holding my temper.”

“Tell that to your track record,” she quipped. “Lena will have to figure him out for herself—she’ll be the best judge of whether or not he’s a good man or a heap of sludge if given enough time.”

“How do you know that?”

“…because I was an eighteen-year-old girl once.” The Baroness watched as her husband and friend’s faces both fell, knowing full-well she was right. “His name was Michael, and he was my first real paramour after graduating from the College in Gallifrey. We met in the capital and dated all while I was in medical training.”

“…what happened?” the Marquis wondered cautiously.

“He wanted to stay in the capital, maybe even move southward, but I wanted to come back here,” she said plainly. “Michael was a good man, but, ended up not being the one for me.”

“I’m glad for that,” the Baron sighed. He kissed the top of his wife’s hair and held her close. “Are you _sure_ she’ll be fine?”

“Of course; the Romlans’ boys are all at least polite and know better than to take advantage of a girl like Lena,” the Baroness replied. “She won’t be in any danger. If anything, he’s a good practice suitor.”

“People don’t have ‘practice suitors’,” he said. One glance at his wife’s face made him very quickly rethink that statement. “Do they?”

“Depends on the person and their position,” she shrugged. “Don’t be surprised if you find yourself entertaining the young lord sometime in the near future, Johan.”

The Baroness then walked away, beyond amused at the current situation. She watched Lena and her dance partner from afar, as well as her husband and liege lord to make sure they didn’t do anything rash. When Lena retired for the evening without so much as a peep from the men, she felt at-ease; now it was time to _really_ watch things unfold.

* * *

A month passed and Lena’s thoughts were in the clouds, unable to fully part themselves from Lord James Romlan and how charming she found him. While the Marchioness found her eldest daughter’s crush to be terribly amusing, the Marquis found it terrible in general—he did not know this young man, nor did the children’s tutor despite being his baronial neighbor, and the thought that his daughter was in love scared him. It was bad enough with his eldest son still making bashful eyes at his schoolmate, but Lena was in a position to where she could _marry_ if that was what she wished. To marry one’s first suitor without taking time to consider the facts was dangerous, and it was something he fretted over telling her, not quite able to work up the courage to have a talk with her.

It all came crashing down on him, however, when Lena received a letter one morning during breakfast. She blushed as she read it, with her breath almost nonexistent.

“Mama? Papa?” she eventually said. “In about two weeks, Lord James Romlan, the son of one of Sir Daniel and Lady Martha’s neighbors, is going to be in Braxos for a meeting with Psi, and he wants to know if he can come here to visit afterwards. Can he?”

“I don’t see why not,” the Marchioness replied. “I saw you dancing with him at the ball—does this mean you are friends?”

“I’d like to think that,” Lena admitted. She placed the letter in her lap and glanced down the table at the Marquis. “Papa? What do you think?”

“Your papa thinks it is a splendid idea,” the Marchioness cut in. She held up a hand to silence her husband, whose face began to turn red. “Write him back and say that we’d love to have him for a spell. I’m sure Psi will be more than willing to let him loose a bit early, even.”

“Thank you, Mama; I’ll go write him now before the day begins,” Lena beamed. She took the letter and bolted, leaving the remainder of her family to sit in awkward tension. It wasn’t until the Baron walked in did the younger children breathe a sigh of relief, whether they knew why or not, and skittered out of the room.

“What’s with them?” he wondered, not yet taking his leave. “Is something wrong?”

“We are going to be hosting the son of one of your neighbors in two weeks,” the Marquis bristled. “Daniel, this is _precisely_ what we wanted to avoid.”

“ _Great_ ,” the Baron muttered sourly. “It’s bad enough she’s not been herself since the ball, but if this continues because of that little Cybermat…”

“Boys, please—let Lena spread her wings,” the Marchioness insisted. She gently placed a hand on her husband’s arm and gently squeezed, forcing him to lock eyes with hers. “She’ll do the right thing.”

“Daniel’s right: our daughter is not herself,” the Marquis reasoned. “I want to be there for her, as I always have, and protect her while she is unawares. Is that so wrong?”

“It can be,” she frowned. She switched her gaze from her husband to her friend and back. “Now no pressuring her one way or the other; either we will have a wedding on our hands or heartbreak. Whichever way, it should happen naturally.”

“I’m still not sure,” the Baron said, clearly uncomfortable.

“It is something we all learn, one way or another,” the Marchioness said. She kissed her husband at the corner of his whiskers, then stood and kissed the Baron on his cheek. “It might end up messy, but what in this world isn’t?” She then left the room, wanting to make sure she had the final word on the matter. They could not truly know the situation as she did—after all, she knew what it was like to be properly courted by a man strange to her father’s lands. She only hoped for the best, as any mother would, and went to her office with a light lift in her step.

* * *

Weeks went by and soon Lord James Romlan rode into the City of Gallifrey, tall and proud atop his horse. He was greeted by Lena at the stables, a footman having alerted her of his arrival.

“I was warned by Lord Simon that Kasterborsian welcome parties are some of the prettiest in the kingdom,” he grinned. The young lord dismounted his horse and approached his hostess, bending down to kiss her knuckles. “Let me shed these travel-stained clothes, after which I would enjoy some fairer company than what I have gotten while on the road.”

“I shall be waiting by the pavilion,” Lena said, suppressing a giggle. She tried not to rush towards the porch overlooking the gardens and sat down on a stone bench, attempting to be as patient as possible. Time seemed to pass slowly while she waited, until finally Lord Romlan returned to her side. Gone were his traveling clothes and instead he wore a fine jacket of the purest blue, which brought out his eyes all the more intensely.

“May I offer my arm for a walk?” he asked.

Without a word, Lena stood and clung to his outstretched arm. They ambled along in the garden’s many paths, wandering only with the aim of conversing.

“I do have to say, milady, that you are one of the most interesting women I’ve ever met.”

“It’s Lena, please,” she giggled. Clinging to his arm, she rested her head against his shoulder as they walked along the garden path. “You know, you’re one of the few men who has given me a second glance as anything other than someone too bold for their station; I cannot express how much I appreciate that.”

“I can only imagine,” he replied. He cleared his throat and glanced at his companion, blush rising to his face. “Lena… I understand this is very soon, but would you consider possibly allowing me to court you?”

“Court?” she beamed. “I’ve never been asked, so I can’t say for sure…”

“I’ve thought about it for a while now, and I imagine we could be happy together,” he continued. “The rule of Kasterborous and Gallifrey would be yours—I don’t want it unless you need to share it—and I will be at your side as counsel and tutor in the ways of people not often contacted by your lord father. It would make the ties between our homes stronger, and my brother shall be more inclined to send support to the border…”

“It sounds like an interesting proposition,” Lena said. She breathed slowly, trying to keep her composure. This was a test… one that she was secretly preparing herself for since their meeting. She was about to sputter out an acceptance when Seren crawled out of the hedge and clung to her skirts.

“Hide me!” the boy whimpered. Lord Romlan took a step back from Seren, a disapproving frown on his face.

“…and who is this?” he wondered cautiously.

“My youngest brother, Seren,” Lena said. She bent down and looked the boy in the eyes. “What are you hiding from?”

“I don’t want to fight swords!” Seren insisted. “Sir Daniel says I have no choice!”

“That’s because Sir Daniel’s correct on this matter,” his sister said. Seren tried to run away, but Lena’s grip on his upper arm was too strong. “We all need to know how to fight whether we like it or not.”

“I get too tired though!”

“That only means you need to practice, nothing more.” It was then that Sterling popped his head around the corner, investigating where Seren had run off to. He was dressed in rough clothes suited for sparring, making it so that it was clear the Baron had been using him as an instructing assistant.

“There he is; thanks for holding onto him,” he breathed in relief. Sterling hauled Seren up onto his shoulder to make sure he didn’t run away, before turning towards their guest and bowing his head slightly. “Lord Romlan, I presume? I’m Sterling, the elder of Lena’s brothers.”

“Charmed,” Lord Romlan nodded. He watched as the brothers left and waited until they left to make a disapproving face. “A term at my old school would straighten that boy out.”

“Seren doesn’t need straightening,” Lena snickered. “He’s barely of schooling age—weren’t you and your siblings the same way?”

“Our nannies kept us in line at home and the professors while at school,” he replied. “Children need to know their place, after all.”

”Their… place…?”

“Of course; staying out of the adults’ way and striving to become proper and respectful individuals. Young Lord Sterling looks to be about the age where children start eating with the remainder of the family instead of with the governess, yet he and young Lord Seren seem too comfortable just interrupting us. Do you not do these things in Gallifrey?”

“Mama and Papa have had us _all_ at the table with them for our entire lives, save for large dinner parties when either a maid or our tutor was left in charge of us before I grew old enough to take responsibility.” Lena tried to keep herself level, now due to irritation, though she still bristled slightly at the man before her. “If you have it in your head to court me, then you have to give your word that you will respect our traditions, how children behave being one of them.”

“You don’t follow many actual traditions though, not that I’m aware,” the lord justified. He did not seem condescending or cruel, though he did appear to be incredibly confused. “You may follow your lord tutor’s traditions in some ways, but I know the man as my neighbor—he is baseborn and makes no apologies for it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was teaching you incorrect policies and protocol, even as an honest mistake. Your parents hold no objections?”

“He has been the _only_ choice for my siblings and me when it comes to our education,” she said. Mentioning Tara’s move to the Academy would only make things worse at this point. “He may have been born a common man, but great men come from all places. That is why the king makes serdars and serdaressas from any significantly accomplished subject, correct?”

“Correct, though I never said anything about him not being a great man, merely misinformed.” The lord began to feel as though he got more than he bargained for when he charmed the pretty young woman with incredible wit, the one who now seemed a completely different person. “My only concern is why two people who were raised in a proper society setting allow the standards to fall for their own children. You are powerful and intelligent, yes, and yet you have little grasp on what makes someone widely respected. I can teach you that, if you wish.”

“I won’t turn you out on the street, Lord Romlan, but I will suggest that you find alternative lodgings for tomorrow,” Lena scowled. “I know what needs to be done in order to gain widespread respect and that is an understanding of and devotion towards the people of the march and earldom. Do not think that because I am of presentation age that means I’m some giggly maid without a brain in my head or a thought of my own. You shall _not_ court me, Lord Romlan; I have better use of my time than listening to you criticize my parents and tutor’s method of raising my siblings and me.”

“…but…”

“See you at dinner—I requested that the cook prepare something special. I hope it is to your liking.” With that she stormed away, leaving the lord to stand there alone in the garden wondering what had just happened.

* * *

Later on that night, Lord James Romlan found himself in the rather awkward position of sitting next to a young woman whom was incapable of giving him anything more than a cordial glance. Her father across the way made his thoughts even more evident, his demeanor cold and his glare colder. All around them, however, was chaos as the rambunctious younger children were nearly bouncing off the walls at the very idea there was a visitor for _their sister_ there, not their parents. Lord Romlan fielded questions from the younger ones with a smile forced upon his face; interacting with children was never one of his strong points, and he knew it never would be.

Unbeknownst to most, the Earlessa spent the night in her sister’s room, ranting to the twins about the odious way in which the visiting lord commented on their upbringing and how he insinuated they needed fixing of some sort. It ended with the young woman bursting into inconsolable tears, swearing she would never allow her heart to get the best of her again. She vowed never again to idly think of weddings and futures unless it was a sibling that was being wed. Eventually the younger twin went and knocked on their parents’ chamber door, summoning their mother to assist in calming the eldest sister. The Marchioness brought the Earlessa back to the latter’s bedroom, stroking her hair as they sat and talked. She assured her that things were going to work out for the better, and that swearing off love and want would do neither her nor the marquisate any good in the long run. The sobs eventually subsided and an exhausted teenager was put to bed by her loving mother; no harm was truly done.

The following morning the almost-suitor took his leave of the Earlessa’s hospitality and slunk over to his relatives’ in the countryside. He now knew to not ignore the words of those who had warned him about her stubbornness and unconventional ways, and would certainly spread the tale himself. She was young though, not yet ready for suitors or a husband, which was the only thing that kept him from speaking the words with any sort of malice. One day she would learn where her duties truly lied and there was nothing wrong with that.


	32. Guilty Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This takes place some vague time after chapter sixteen, The Common Anniversary, making Johan 69 and Clara 50.

_Slipping into a hidden corridor, Johan followed a billowing trail of bright red hair as he allowed himself to be dragged along by torchlight. Yes, he was only Johan then, an earl in his own right, though not yet risen to the seat of his forefathers. Both he and his companion were giggling, whispering, and saying things long-forgotten as they navigated the winding staircase. Finally, they came to a landing—once used as a lookout point during the Dalek Wars, they had supposed—and he let go of the hand leading him. The young woman before him put the torch in a sconce and turned around; everything around them seemed to melt away in an instant. Eyes of green and amber, freckles across ivory skin, a small and flirty smile, the short lashes and straight nose that both bothered her so yet he found adorable in their own way … she approached him as a vision of perfection._

_He held her hand within his own—both were young and smooth—and brought it up to his lips. Words in the ceremonial tongue escaped him as he kissed her fingertips, palm, wrist, moving slowly as he recited poetry now silent with age. Her hand escaped his and gently guided his face down into a kiss. Timid at first, it grew bolder and more intense as hands began to grasp and he stumbled until his back slammed against the wall._

Waking with a start, the Marquis sat up in bed with a cold sweat beading across his brow. He took a few deep breaths before looking down at the other side of the bed. Although he and his wife had started the night alone, a short storm had barreled through and now the Marchioness lay with Seren nestled in her arms. The boy was growing too old for such things, he had argued, but when a mother makes a decision, it stayed decided. After gently arranging her hair so that it stayed off her face, the Marquis quietly slid out of bed and put on his robe.

“Mmm… Johan…?”

“I can’t sleep, dearest,” he lied. He walked around to her side of the bed and bent down to leave a kiss upon her brow. “Going for a walk; should be back before dawn.”

“Feel better,” the Marchioness said groggily. She went back to sleep and her husband silently left the room.

There was no way he could stay at her side after what he had just dreamt.

Feeling guilty, he wandered the moon-lit castle corridors until he stumbled upon the portrait hall. There hung the visual records of the previous marquises, and in most cases their wives, all staring back at him with the power and might they had once commanded, along with a special quality none of the others possessed. His great-grandfather stood alone, a war-weary widow with a reluctance towards fighting; his grandfather and grandmother sat side-by-side, each sporting their own look of casual boredom, if his memory of them was anything to go on; his parents eschewed the formal feel, with her sitting to read a book and he leaning down to look with a hand on her shoulder; they were all marquises and marchionesses of times past and were now all memory.

The final two portraits in the hall were the ones he had come to see, however. At the very end was the one of the Two Doctors, painted nearly ten years ago at this point. It was shortly after Maglina had her first birthday, he remembered, and the Baroness Coal-on-the-Hill had helped them out by keeping her with Oriana during the days they were posing with scepters and held hands. They were due for another, he thought, and tried imagining the painting that would be placed to its left: his daughter with a sword in one hand and scepter in the other, triumph and fury in her eyes.

To its right sat the image that was the most out of place if ever there was one. He had originally protested to placing it in the hall with all the others, yet the Marchioness had insisted out of respect to her predecessor. There the Marquis saw his reflection, all of eighteen-and-a-half years with his bride on his arm. Older than they were in his dream by a year, they were oblivious to what was to come within the few short years that followed. Melody never had the chance to sit in the Companion’s chair as Marchioness, the young Johan succeeded his father Troy while still grieving, and the amount of state funerals in one year was the highest it had been in a time not ravaged by war or plague. The Marquis sat down on a bench and stared, the pain reaching down to where he had always imagined his second heart sat, before he realized its name was Clara.

After having accepted the past for so long, why was he now allowing days long gone to haunt him?

The Marquis sat for a long while, losing track of time as he studied the portrait. It helped him fill in the gaps from memories not thought of in years, decades. He was about to leave when a voice cut through the silence, rattling him severely.

“Johan? What are you doing?

Turning his head, the Marquis saw his wife standing not far away, having left their quarters still in her night things. He looked out the window—the sun was beginning to rise in the violet-tinged sky; he was caught.

“Just remembering,” he said. The Marchioness sat down next to him, silently offering her ear. “I doubt you want to hear about things that happened long before you arrived in the marquisate.”

“What is this about? You don’t sulk about the castle for no apparent reason.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Then what is the matter?” She took his hand in hers and leaned to look him in the eyes. “We are both the Doctor; I should know what is troubling you.”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about…”

“Not only am I your Doctor, but I am your wife and the mother of your children; what is the matter? I deserve to know.”

“ _Clara_ …”

“ ** _Johan_**.”

“I…” He finally directly met her eyes and broke, knowing he wouldn’t last long against her now. “I apologize; my dreams since our trip have been leading me back to time spent with Melody. Please forgive me.”

“I was the one who started it… what is there to forgive?” She pulled him closer and kissed his cheek before resting her head on his shoulder. The portrait before them nearly seemed to smile down at her, giving the Marchioness confidence beyond measure. “Was the dream at least a happy one? From a good memory? The older dreams are, the more bittersweet they feel, but I’d rather you remember the better times. A person only has one Melody, after all.”

“That is not fair on you.”

“It is the truth: a Melody, a Daniel, a Doctor... sometimes they are one person, sometimes they are many, and sometimes someone is unfortunate enough to never truly meet any.” The Marchioness felt relieved as her husband’s arm wrapped around her waist. “Where were you? How old were you? What were you doing?”

“We were in the hidden paths, back when we were seventeen,” he explained quietly. “The fact that out of our older daughters, only Tara has kept a paramour for physical desires still shocks me… and makes me glad she has the room to make my mistakes.”

“If anything, it is good to know that the hidden paths have never truly gone unused,” she gently teased. When his only reply was a strained laugh, she decided on asking for something new. “Can you bring me there?”

“I’m sorry…?”

“Are you able to bring me to that place you were dreaming of, so I might see it?”

“Why do you want to go there?” the Marquis wondered. “It was a place for me to be intimate with a woman who wasn’t you; isn’t it an odd request?”

“It is odd, I agree, but it’s obvious it still hurts, and I want to help you,” she said. “Lady Melody does not deserve to be forgotten, but she _does_ deserve to rest in the earth knowing that her beloved was not destroyed by her death.” The Marchioness gestured towards the portrait of the young couple, making sure to draw attention towards it. “Maybe if you go there, you might come to better terms with things. She can’t stay locked away in your memory forever, keeping parts of you from those of us still living; I doubt she’d stand for it.”

“You’re correct: she wouldn’t,” he admitted. He stood, offering her his hand. “I’d rather you dress a bit warmer, but I’ll show you, if you wish.”

After stopping back at their chambers quick enough to grab a shawl, the pair quickly wandered throughout the castle until they found a particular statue of the Second Doctor and Marquis. There was a hidden panel behind it that the Marquis struggled to pop out of the wall, but once they were in, there were no obstacles. He lit the torch sitting in the sconce and marveled at the brightness of the flame.

“For all I know, this has been sitting here unused for fifty years.”

“Let’s go; you were right about the chill,” the Marchioness said, clutching the shawl around her tighter.

With one hand holding the wrap in place and the other in her husband’s hand, she allowed him to lead her along. The cool air did not seem to deter him as they went through the narrow corridors, barely even pausing to recall which path to take. Eventually they did arrive at the place in the Marquis’s dream, with him freezing when he realized they had made it. The Marchioness took the torch from his hand and found an empty sconce, depositing it there before going back to the Marquis’s side.

“A fortification?” she asked, gently pulling him further into the small room.

“During the Dalek Wars, we assumed,” he replied. They went to one of the slits in the wall acting as a window and gazed down upon the city, seeing the buildings bathed in violet and crimson as the incoming day approached. “We had genuine magic then—none of this hidden-in-the-open rubbish—and a Gallifreyan archmage could snipe Dalek soldiers approaching the city walls rather well from such a position. The way to this spot, and others, was officially closed off in the Mourning, when we were honoring those who were lost, but there has always been access to them since, even if they are secret. I’ve made sure our older girls know them well, beyond the escape passages they were taught as children, in preparation for when we retire and no longer have command over anything.”

“You told the girls, but not me?” she chuckled. The Marchioness sat down on a wooden bed platform and watched as the Marquis kept staring out the embrasure. It still felt sturdy enough to sit on, and was completely bare save for a moldy-looking blanket on the far end. “What else do the girls know that I do not?”

“Very little,” he said. “I have explained to them something about the memory of Lady Melody when it comes to my love for you though, because it is very important that they realize it.”

“…and what’s that?”

“You’re not competing with a ghost,” he stated, finally walking away from the wall. He sat down next to his wife and held her hand. “I’ve never wished for you to feel that way, which is why I’ve kept things inside. There’s no one else I’d rather have with me at this moment, truly.” He exhaled heavily, remembering unpleasant things. “I knew from the start I would outlive Melody since her parents had not a drop of Ancient Gallifrey in their veins, and there is a chance that I will outlive you for that same reason, but if any _thing_ , any ** _one_** , tries to take you from me before your time, I _will_ make them pay.”

“I would hate to be on the wrong end of that,” she said. “Then again, I would do the same if the world attempts to take you away before you are ready—the children didn’t inherit all their ferocity from you. Just because I wasn’t able to know your father and grandfather does not mean I will sit idly when it comes to knowing your children and grandchildren as they grow.”

“Stars, Papa and the children,” the Marquis half-groaned. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Had he survived the heartbreak, he would have made it his life’s mission to dote upon the children while driving us mad.”

“He at least sounds like a proper father-in-law,” she smirked, though it melted away into thought. “I can see Lena banning us from the front when we retire and she takes over the marquisate, so that neither of us meet your lord grandfather’s fate.”

“Grandpapa was reckless after he buried Grandmamma Donata, and the battle wounds that killed him had been easily avoidable,” he said. “It’s an odd thing; Grandpapa succeeded where I did not, and not only is the marquisate better off for it, but I am as well.”

“No more talk of sad things,” the Marchioness demanded. “Now tell me: how did you think to use _this place_ above all the others?”

As they talked and eased the memories from his lips, the scarlet dawn came, light slipping in through the embrasures, warning them of their impending duties. They slowly made their way back through the passageways, the Marquis found the point of entry and doused the torch, only to have his hand smacked away from the door handle. The Marchioness pulled him down and silently thanked him the best she could: by making him gasp her name, whispering in tiny whimpers while questioning what could happen if a wandering servant found them out.

No one found them, however, and both Marquis and Marchioness reported to breakfast with their children as they normally would. It seemed a miracle that none of the children picked up on their father’s bout of extra-attentiveness when it came to their mother. His adoration for her seemed unfettered and endless, making it so the eyes he was giving her were not anything new to the teens and their younger siblings. It was not until the Earlessa was forced to preside over court alone did anyone connect the dots concerning talk over the castle’s hidden paths, and she really wished she hadn’t remembered any of it in the slightest… for _that_ was where she knew her parents had run off towards.


	33. The Accountant and the Merchant (III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the thrilling conclusion of the Accountant and the Merchant trilogy (or is it?!)! Ages to remember are Johan at 71, Clara at 52, Olly at 27, Lena at 21, and Astra at 19.

Nearly a week went by with Olivier and Astra spending time in close quarters. He would fetch every meal from the nearby tavern, the snow and wind in varying degrees of storm, while she worked on the audit. They moved operations to the room in which they slept, to manage the fuel better by heating only one stove instead of two, and the combination office and lodgings became a little haven for them. Laughing and talking by day, they would lay together at night. Olivier had shoved their bedframes together, making it so that they could easily cuddle with their blankets dutifully between them, or lay facing one another and holding hands while they talked until they fell asleep.

Astra was finishing her second-to-last record book when Olivier came back with their lunch one day, a giant grin upon his face. He placed the warm cloth bundle on a nightstand and bent down to kiss her excitedly.

“What’s that for?” she giggled.

“Totter’s Pass should be open by tomorrow afternoon,” he replied. He waited for her to stand before grabbing her into a spinning hug. “I can go home!”

Astra tried not to frown as she was put down, the words cutting through her. “Oh yeah… home.”

“Will you come with me?” Olivier asked. He held her by the shoulders and hunched slightly to look her better in the eyes. There was trepidation staring back at him, and he wanted to make sure she was alright. “I’ll gladly wait until after you’re done with the audit—it’s not that long now. You can come and meet Mum and Uncle Antoine and—”

“Olly… I can’t,” she replied, voice growing quiet. “I can’t just take off… the March…”

“You don’t have to live your life according to the March’s whims,” he said, attempting to keep her gaze. It was becoming increasingly difficult, as she was trying to avoid eye contact. “I’d like to give you an opportunity at something else… if you’d let me.”

“What do you mean?”

Olivier took both of her hands in his and bent down on one knee in the southern fashion. “I want to do more than just court you, Astra; I want to _marry_ you. Will you, please?”

Her brown eyes went wide as the words hit her. She wasn’t stupid; of course they were already courting and courting often led to marriage, though to be finally hit in the face with the finality of it seemed… frightening, in a way.

“…Astra…? Are you alright…?” he asked carefully. “Are you having second thoughts? It’s okay if you are—just tell me.”

“I’m fine Olly, it’s just…” She sat down at the edge of the bed and tried to breathe slowly; if she let it all out now, the entire relationship could be done for. “Mama will be happy, but Papa will be afraid.”

“Fathers should always be afraid for their children though... aren’t they?”

“Not like Papa—he didn’t think we were going to exist before he met Mama, let alone thought that she would ever exist. The first one of us to announce an engagement is going to need to be careful about it, whether it’s because of his temper or his health.”

“Oh…” he frowned. “I didn’t think about that… dangers of only having Mum around, I guess.” He sat down next to her, holding her hand. “Maybe bringing you to Rhylls _is_ a little sudden. We can still write to one another, and it might be better with you easing your papa into the idea of me in your way. I don’t exactly know how families in the north differ from the south…”

“Probably not as much as we think,” she said. Astra leaned into Olivier, prompting him to hold her tight. “We will write until you come back next, which is when you will meet my family, and we will then take it from there.”

“Until then, we can knock out some of the more serious conversations we need to have over lunch,” he mentioned. It brought Astra’s thoughts to the food cooling on the nightstand and she nodded in agreement.

Now, if only the food could help her figure out how she would break the news to the ones up in the castle.

* * *

That night, which was agreed to be their final one together for the time being, Astra and Olivier stretched the limits of their chastity as they laid in bed, touching and fumbling as they did their best to create memories that they would hold close to their hearts while apart. It was nothing short of exhilarating for either of them, although for Astra it was a night beyond her wildest dreams. Even fully-clothed it was beyond whatever she’d read in books or the vulgar stories she heard from Tara—it was bliss.

She grazed her mind with Olivier’s as they languidly kissed, nearly asleep, and found not only adoration and desire, but nervousness and trepidation. If anything assured her about their decision, it was his unfiltered emotions spilling out of him, not so very different in feel from when her own parents deigned against shielding their minds from the world and she easily picked up on their desires for one another. She knew she would eventually tell him about her gift, and apologize for her secret use of it, though if he truly was the man she was figuring him out to be, then everything was going to be fine.

The following morning was painful, as neither Olivier nor Astra wanted to part. He did eventually leave, giving her one final, tender kiss at the room door before forcing himself from the building and onto the road to Rhylls. Neither of them slept well that night, or the night after, and knew they were not going to wholly sleep soundly until they saw one another again.

* * *

When Astra finally made it back to Castle Gallifrey, it was the day before the Festival of the Violet Sky, meaning that everything was in a tizzy. Her parents barely had the time to welcome her back before dinner and her siblings were wrapped up in what they were doing for their studies or the festival itself for her to make certain of anything other than that she was physically present. “We’ll hear everything when it’s less hectic,” was the standard answer, and it was all Astra could do to smile and concede.

After dinner, when everyone had retreated to their quarters and their own little worlds, Astra sat alone with her tea feeling lonelier than when Tara had first gone away on deployment. Since then her twin had returned and left again, and though she was now used to being by herself, it wasn’t something she cherished. Not caring that she was in her night-things, she left her room and went to Lena’s, knocking timidly at the door.

“Lena… do you have a moment?”

There was the sound of shuffling and Lena quickly opened the door. She began to panic when she saw her sister, pulling her into the room and closing the door securely behind them.

“What’s the matter?” she asked quickly. “Do I need to call back Tara from the front? We’ll make sure whomever did this will _pay_.”

“Wait, what…?” Astra gasped. “No, no, it’s not like that…”

“…then why are you crying?” Lena watched as Astra put a hand to her face, realizing that her sister’s worry was far from unfounded. “The night you return from your audit, which keeps on getting more and more _brilliant_ the further into the report I look, by the way, and you show up at my door late in the evening in tears? What am I supposed to think?”

“I’m not hurt, if that’s what you mean,” she replied. “It’s just… I want to get something off my chest, and I don’t know who else I can talk with about this…”

“You’ve got me—come and sit down. We can’t have a proper chat standing here.” Lena led Astra over to her work table and cleaned it off as she ordered more tea for them both. The results of the audit were there, which the earlessa kept chatting on and on about while the fresh tea and biscuits were on their way. Once the maid was gone and she had draped a blanket across her sister’s shoulders, Lena sat down and looked Astra dead in the eyes. “What happened while you were doing that audit?”

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t anything bad… it’s just…” Astra grew quiet and stared into her tea; it was their mother’s blend, the same thing she had with Olivier so many times now.

“Astra…?”

“The guild shut down due to the snows, right?” she began, the dam finally giving way. “Naturally, this stranded some people, and of course there was someone from the south who was still boarding in the guild when this happened. We had dinner the night before, which was just supposed to be _dinner_ , but once he was stranded and decided to stay in the guild lodging we kept one another company so as to not go insane, and as it turned out between all our talking and whatnot we fell in love and now we’re engaged to be married, and while I don’t regret it, I don’t know how Papa is going to take it, or Mama, or anyone else, and I’d talk to Tara but she’s miles away, and—”

“Okay, stop right there,” Lena said, cutting Astra off. “You just said you’re engaged to be married.”

“Yeah.”

“…to some random man none of the rest of us have met yet.”

“Yeah.”

“…whom you couldn’t have spent much more than a week with.”

“…yeah…?” She cringed, having now heard it aloud for the first time. “It’s better than it sounds, really. We talked a lot about important things once we realized what was going on.”

“Now what is stopping me from heading over to Mama and Papa and having them put a _complete halt_ to this nonsense?” Lena asked.

“Olly doesn’t know who we are,” Astra insisted. “I gave the story Tara always used at the Academy; he wants to be with _me_ , not the Earlessa of Gallifrey’s heir… I felt his emotions and everything. There’s no way he knows.”

“So his name’s Olly?”

“Olivier Lakertya; he was here on an errand for his uncle Antoine—he works for him. They transport dry goods, and…”

“Wait, _Lakertya_?” Lena repeated. She stood when her sister nodded, going towards the other end of the table and shuffling through the papers. “What did you say his uncle’s name was?”

“Antoine… um… stars, he said his surname. Pelagon? Peladon? Pelatahn… something like that.” She watched as Lena located an envelope and nearly tore the contents from it. “I screwed up, didn’t I?”

“That all depends on your perspective,” the elder sister said idly. She scanned the letter as she returned to her seat. “What do you remember about Uncle Antoine?”

“Lena, what is that?”

“You’re not in the position to be asking questions: now what do you remember?”

“He’s his mama’s brother, but has been almost like a dad since his wasn’t around much,” Astra recalled. “The siblings have kept the family business afloat, though it’s mainly through the work his uncle did with traveling and negotiations.”

“…and this Olivier didn’t scare you or put pressure on you or anything like that?”

“No, not at all.” Astra drew her legs up and hugged her knees. “This is looking worse as it goes… I’m such an idiot.”

“A very lucky idiot, _Serdaressa Peladon_ ,” Lena smirked. She placed the letter on the table and watched as her sister unfolded herself to look it over. “Out of all the men you had to fall in love with on a whim, you pick a future serdar’s heir.”

“I don’t get it… what is this?”

“ _That_ is a notice Papa and I received from the King’s Office while you were auditing,” she said. “You don’t know this, but every year we’re given a list of potential serdars and serdaressas in the winter months, so that we may have enough time to make a claim against someone before they are sworn in during the summer.” She pulled away the top page and pointed to one clump of text, the names in which Astra found chillingly familiar. “Antione Peladon of Peladon Shipping and Freight took his family’s struggling trading post and turned it into the very backbone of Rhyllish commerce within a matter of decades. He’s divorced with no children, which has made him name his sister’s son, one Olivier Lakertya, his sole heir to not only his company, but an inheritable title as well.”

“Gods… this _is_ Olly…”

“You found yourself love, wealth, _and_ a title and didn’t even realize it,” Lena chuckled. She took a sip of her tea and watched her sister marvel over the notice. “What’s he like?”

“He’s very sweet and kind, and if he wasn’t there, I likely would have gone mad since there was no one else around,” Astra blushed. “He _did_ steal a kiss, but when he realized it was my first, he immediately apologized. I could have thrown him out whenever I wished, and now I’m _really_ glad he never gave me reason to. We decided that he’d return to Gallifrey in the summer to meet our family, so you’ll meet him then, and that’s when I’ll tell him about… um… the things I glossed over.”

“Papa’s going to be _furious_ , you know this, right? The first of his starlets getting married is something to fear.”

“Papa has been in a constant state of furious ever since you came of-age,” she reminded her. “Speaking of: are you considering going to Young Lord Romlan’s wedding?”

Lena cursed in the ceremonial tongue. “I’m sending a gift and well-wishes with Sir Daniel and Lady Martha, but that’s my limit. Why anyone would want to send a wedding invitation to someone he wanted to court at one point is beyond me…”

“It’s probably to show he harbors no ill feelings against you,” Astra shrugged. “You have to admit that his intended _is_ your complete opposite—lucked out on that one. I didn’t get the impression that he was a _bad_ man though…”

“No, simply incompetent and insufficient when it comes to what I want in a husband,” Lena said. She took hold of Astra’s hand and held it tightly with both her own. “I’ll keep your secret and not tell anyone about what happened unless you say so, on one condition.”

“What’s that…?”

“You better give me as many nieces and nephews as you can possibly stand, because with the way my options look, the marquisate’s relying on your issue and not mine.”

“Oh, not this, _again_ ,” Astra groaned, trying to not laugh. “Lena, you’re _twenty-one_ —your intended could very well not have attended a social event yet!”

“I’m not taking any chances; you’ve seen what I have to work with!”

“…and maybe if you weren’t cut from Papa’s terrifying cloth like Tara was, you might have a chance.”

The sisters bickered lovingly for a while before deciding it was a good time to turn in. Astra felt as though the pressure that had been building upon her had lifted, and that things were going to turn out for the better. She _hoped_ it was to be for the better, but only time could tell.

* * *

The Violet Sky passed and winter endured. Astra went on another auditing trip to the builders’ guild, which was much simpler a task than the merchants’ one, and there was not a peep from her father about the propriety of her doing so. She took pride in her work, which seemed to bring the heads of the merchants’ guild down a couple pegs after a third-party was brought in to double-check her work and show that they indeed owed much more in taxes than originally given and not simply the work of someone paid to find fault where there was none.

When she returned to her office within the castle, however, she found in her mail a simple letter addressed to “ _Miss Astra Smith, Department of Accounts, Castle Gallifrey, Kasterborous_ ” in a familiar hand that she kept until late that night to open. Curled up in bed, she eased open the envelope and began to read, a small smile spreading across her lips.

“ _Dearest Astra_ ,” it read, “ _I’m home and safe. The address that this was sent from is a good one to post a letter to—probably shouldn’t send anything to the house after all. I hadn’t been worried about Mum, but Uncle Antoine was **furious** when he heard about us, even threatened to take me to a mental-physician, and I’m pretty sure he’d want to go through anything that comes to the house **personally** before letting me get my mail_ …”

It was just as they had figured before parting what felt like half a year ago at that point. His uncle was cross, but that was likely to be the easiest of their problems. She read the letter twice before carefully putting it back in the envelope and slipping it in her nightstand drawer. It felt indulgent, but she dreamt that night of the feeling of his lips against her throat and his hands caressing her through her clothes. The only thing Astra knew was that she felt confident about it all, and it was all she needed.


	34. The Earlessa's Creation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough ages for everyone in the story is as follows: David at 69; Johan at 68; Linda at 61; Daniel at 51; Clara at 49; Martha at 46; Lena at 18; Astra/Tara at an old 15; Sterling at 12; Oriana at 10; Maglina at an old 9; and Seren is 4 ½.

As Winter's last vestiges began to melt and give way to Spring, the ruling family in Castle Gallifrey was beginning to fuss something fierce. Lena Anthea, the eldest child and heir presumptive to the governance of the march and earldom, was soon to turn eighteen years old and become fully of-age. While she had been a legal adult in the eyes of the law for two years at that point, the more recent traditions of waiting to declare a healthy heir officially within their rights until they reached the age of eighteen seemed much more attractive of a situation for her doting father than the traditions more prevalent in his grandfather's age. It meant relative peace and prosperity to be able to wait the couple years it took to bring her to Presentation age before turning her title into more than just a courtesy, which was something both of her parents could appreciate.

This did not mean that planning the event was going to be completely without bumps in the road.

"…but I want to _be there_ , Papa!" Seren whined. He tugged on his father's cloak, hoping to monopolize his attention. The family was all sitting in the private study, with Lena and her parents going over the proceedings for the ceremony while the younger children went over schoolwork or read in the company of the remainder of the family.

"I told you, starlet: there has never been a child at these events before, and to break protocol would risk your sister's claim," the Marquis said. He picked his youngest son up and held him close, bouncing his knee in a vain attempt to amuse him. "We want her to govern uncontested one day, meaning we have to be particularly careful none of the pudding-brained lesser lords have any ammunition for their stupidity."

Seren made a decidedly unamused sound and wrapped his father's cloak around him. His eldest sister frowned at that, tapping the end of her pencil in thought.

"Papa, can't we simply have the younger ones in one of the hidden balconies?" Lena asked. "This is an important occasion and I don't want to have my siblings miss it."

"Ori needs to go too!" Maglina insisted from the other side of the room. Her attention was ripped away from her book, green eyes wide in horror. "If we can come, then she should as well!"

"I count Oriana in this, don't worry," Lena assured. "If her parents are coming, as well as all of you, then it would be a shame not to have her." She then turned her attention back over to their parents. "Do you think it would work?"

"I don't see why not," the Marchioness pondered. "Most of the balconies will be occupied by guards, but there should be enough space for the six of them."

"Why will there be guards in the balconies?" Seren wondered.

"…for the same reason you cannot be on the floor watching the ceremony, starlet: not everyone is a kind person," the Marquis replied. He stroked his son's hair and glanced at his wife and eldest daughter—they knew _why_ there was a necessity for guards, but it was best to not go into detail with him. Should something arise, at least the younger ones will be in a position to be quickly ushered away from the chaos before anything too gruesome took place.

Danger was part of their jobs, however, and it was silently put aside for the time being for something else.

"How about we figure out what to do if Lady Linda decides to come along with Grandpapa?" the Marchioness asked cheerily. "Last time she was here, all she did was complain about the cold."

"That's because Grandmamma is allergic to fun," Maglina frowned, attempting her best imitation of her father's scowl.

"Now, now; no one can _choose_ to be allergic to something," her mother scolded gently. "All we need to do is figure out what won't set off her unfortunate allergy." It was a successful distraction from the other topic at-hand, for her youngest two children were always ready to figure out what to do with their step-grandmother; the ceremony itself would continue to be planned for, she could count on that.

* * *

It was the day before Lena's creation ceremony and most of Castle Gallifrey was bustling with activity as the servants and family alike prepared for the big day. Finding himself with nothing to do and no lessons to attend, Sterling found his way to the large library within the castle; the one in his family's private wing was where all the valuable books resided, yet it was this specific one that was not only open to the entirety of the staff, but had a larger selection of books to choose from. The tween had plucked a book about astronomy from the shelves and began to comb through it, blissfully studying at a table tucked away from the main of the room. He was content, until movement caught his eye and tore him away from his studies. He knew the man's face—he was a baronet with lands within the marquisate and therefore attended court often—and that was the only reason why he let the man approach.

"Young Master Sterling, I'm glad to have caught you," the baronet said. He sat down across the table from the lad, keeping a respectable distance. "How have you been faring lately?"

"Uh, good," the boy replied. "Thank you for asking." A thought came to his head and he stared at the lesser lord with caution. "Why do you ask?"

"You are the middle child—middle children often get overlooked when their siblings are being given all the attention," the baronet reasoned. "Older ones reach milestones first, while younger ones demand the remainder of the parents' time simply by being young; it's nothing uncommon for a middle child to feel left out and forgotten."

"I don't feel forgotten," Sterling said. "Mama and Papa treat me the same as ever."

"…but is that how you _should_ be treated?"

This took the young lad by surprise. "What do you mean…?"

"Your future is being kept from you, Young Master Sterling," the baronet explained. "The only coming-of-age ceremony that should take place is _yours_ in six years' time. There is a faction amongst us lesser lords that would rather it be that way instead of what is about to transpire. Your sister is a smart young woman who will go far, I'll give her that, but it's _your birthright_ she's about to claim."

"I have to go," Sterling blurted out quickly. He took his papers and pencil and stuffed him in the book, attempting to make a bee-line for the staircase. On his way, the baronet took hold of his forearm, forcing him to stay.

"Think about it, Young Master Sterling," he requested. "If this were any other title, in any other part of the kingdom, it would be yours for the taking, despite what your father insists. You know how to get a hold of me."

At that, he let the tween go, allowing him to run off back into the family's private quarters and into his room. Sterling collapsed on the settee, absolutely terrified and shaking terribly. He rang the bell for service, huddled underneath a blanket, and profusely thanked the maid who delivered his tea, insisting that the room was not cold enough for her to stoke the fire. His hands were nearly steady again when there was a soft knock on his door.

"Sterling? May I come in?"

"Go away, Lena," he replied, his voice high and thin. Instead, the door opened and his eldest sister popped in, sitting down next to him.

"I just ran into Claire, one of the maids, and she said you were acting peculiar," she stated. Lena frowned at how her brother was retreating further and further into his blanket. She forced the fabric from his fingers and pulled the blanket back. While they had both inherited their father's eyes, hers were the steely grey while his seemed a pale, watery blue. "What's the matter?"

Instead of responding with words, Sterling squeaked and pulled the blanket over his head again. Lena groaned in aggravation, not liking where this was heading.

"Okay," she said. "I'm going to sit here until you tell me what's wrong. Take your time."

"No."

"Am I talking to Sterling or Seren? Come on—talk to me. Do I need to get Mama and Papa?"

"Don't!" he gasped, staring at her in fear.

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't want to be in trouble," he said. Lena watched as Sterling readjusted his blanket and stared at the tea tray. "I'm really scared."

"What scared you?"

"One of the lesser lords asked me how I was doing while in the larger library today."

"That sounds… kind of him…?" Lena replied, scrunching her nose.

"I thought so too, but he said I wasn't being treated right, and that you're stealing my birthright from me, and I tried to go right away once I knew what he was talking about, but please don't think I agree with him!"

"Oh… that's why it was scary," she nodded. "You know that's treason, but you don't want me to think you're in on it, because you're not."

"Uh-huh," he sniffled. "I don't want to rule; good marquises don't make star charts as their job."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Nuh-uh—I was too afraid. I don't want it to be a mess like when Grandfather's uncle tried to take over. He said there was a _faction_ that wants me instead of you! That means there's lots of people!"

"Sterling, listen to me," Lena ordered. She held his face in her hands in order to make sure he had nowhere to look but at her. "I trust you. I know that if any of those daft lesser lords try to convince you to overthrow me, you won't have any of it, because that's not the kind of kid you are." She then pulled him in close for a tight hug, rubbing his back. "I know they won't listen if you tell them you want to be an astronomer, but if you say you're happy making star charts and they insist you should be otherwise, come find me and I will make sure that they _know_ where they can take their complaints to next time."

"…to you…?"

"Out of the marquisate and to whatever other thick-headed imbeciles will listen to their whining," she said firmly. "His Lord Highness is behind my appointment, and there are others in power in the capital that can vouch for Mama, Papa, and me. You don't need to worry about being made Lord Earl of Gallifrey unless you wish it."

"…and I don't," Sterling whimpered.

"Then don't be afraid," she assured him. "Do you remember who it was?"

"Not by name, but I could point him out."

"Then don't bother—he will get suspicious if you do that." She let her brother go and patted him on the back. "People have been wanting to put you before me in line for Papa's title for twelve years now—I'm used to it, and haven't blamed you for a moment."

"Thank you, Lena," Sterling smiled. His expression then turned to worry as his thoughts went elsewhere. "What will you do if they try something tomorrow?"

"You just leave that to me, okay?"

"Okay. Umm… can you not tell Mama and Papa? They'd be furious."

"They won't know until it's too late to do anything about it," she said. "Now, how about if we see if Tara's home yet—I'm sure she would be willing to help you with some sparring, and doing something physical will help take your mind off it."

"…and everyone's so afraid of Tara that they won't want to come near me," he added.

"That's the spirit; come on." The two then left for the sparring hall, with Sterling feeling much more confident with himself, as well as glad that Lena did barge into his room despite him telling her not to.

* * *

The governance hall was packed as Lena walked down the aisle that parted the sea of people there to see the ceremony. She was dressed finely, in an elegant red dress—brand new for the occasion—and a trailing black cloak that was capped in white and lined with crimson. A quick glance towards a corner and she saw the balcony where her siblings and Oriana sat watching. She kept on walking, head held high and shoulders set, returning her focus on her parents at the governance chairs. A man stood to her father's left, whom she knew as the local magistrate, holding a pillow with her coronet. She had requested that one specifically, it having not been used since the creation of her father's first wife as earlessa, and she wanted to honor that instead of being made a new one, despite mutterings of curses that followed the item.

When she made it up to the bottom step of the dais, she knelt down and the ceremony began. Her father spoke over her in the ceremonial tongue, reciting words old even by Gallifreyan standards. He declared her suitable for the earldom, that she was well-trained and was capable of not only fully taking charge of Gallifrey, but that she would be ready to take on the entire marquisate when the time came. She had to reply back, to swear her life's mission to her people, which made both her parents beam.

"Then come," the Marquis said in the common tongue, "and claim your birthright."

Lena stood and ascended the dais, bowing deeply when she reached the top. The Marquis took the coronet from its perch and, together with the Marchioness, placed it on their daughter's head.

"We would now like to present in an official capacity, the Lady Earlessa Lena Anthea of Gallifrey and the Northern Lands," the Marchioness announced. Applause filled the hall as her daughter stood upright and turned around, greeting everyone in an official capacity for the first time.

" _Thank you_ ," Lena said in Ancient Gallifreyan. It was a word near everyone knew, though she switched back to the common tongue for the remainder of her speech. "I want to make sure it is clear that I am grateful for everyone's support and understanding over the years, both nobility and otherwise, in allowing me to take on duties and learn governance from a young age so that I stand here truly the best I can be for this position.

"Furthermore, I would also like to make clear that the only way I am giving up being earlessa is if I pass on the title to my younger sister in lieu of becoming marchioness. There has been rumor of a faction amongst our ranks that is disgruntled that I am not my younger brother, and that he has been pressured into joining them. This is treason and there shall be no tolerance for it. Drop any such thoughts now or prepare to either be banished from Gallifrey or rot in her inner bowels. You neither scare me, nor shall scare my family; that is the last word on the matter."

Hushed murmurs spread through the hall; who was the fool who went directly to the youngster thinking they would come out unscathed? Not a soul claimed to be the perpetrator, though high above the crowd, the freshly-official earlessa's twin sisters were examining the frazzled emotions that were definitely unguarded and easy for them to read. They already knew which one it was that attempted to sway their brother, and now finding his cohorts were all the easier. Their identities were tucked away for later—now was about their sister, not them.

The dinner and dancing that ended up following seemed slightly thinner as far as attendance, though that did not bother the Marquis and Marchioness in the slightest. They were taken aback as anyone over the revelation their eldest shared with the rest of court, causing them to pull their eldest son aside when they had the chance. He assured them that everything was now fine and that his lady sister had taken care of it with her official first speech.

No one was going to bother him anymore about taking over Lena's position in the earldom and marquisate. She made her stance clear, meaning that if anyone were to argue, she'd have the ability to fight back. It made him feel safe knowing she had it under control, and it let him, as well as his parents, enjoy the rest of the celebration with ease.


	35. The Old Estate and the Brothers Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter is very starlet-centric. If that's not your thing, that's fine, though I will also warn that this also contains laywork for further, potentially more interesting, chapters.
> 
> Ages for everyone are as follows: Johan at 72, Clara at 53, Martha at 50, Olly at 28, Lena at 22, Astra/Tara nearly at 20, Sterling at 16, Oriana at 14, Maglina just turned 14, and Seren at 8 ½.

With the announcement of Astra’s impending marriage, things were slightly topsy-turvy within the walls of Castle Gallifrey. There was plenty to plan for as the governing family prepared to welcome the serdarling fully into their home, while said serdarling braced for the in-laws and position he had not been expecting. The wedding was to be the first in the castle since the Marquis’s to his betrothed as a young man, which ensured that the march as well as the earldom was teeming with excitement.

In a small ballroom, away from the hustle and bustle of the main of the castle, the Lady Martha Jones-Pink, Baroness Coal-on-the-Hill, was helping Seren sit down with his cello while Sterling, Maglina, and Oriana stood nearby. Out of the teens, it was the girls who were excited, whilst the boy was ready to hide behind the drapes and never come out.

“Are you ready, Seren?” the Baroness asked. The young boy nodded, face grit with determination when it came to handling the instrument, which was larger than he was even when standing, having recently moved up to an almost-full size.

“We aren’t even technically supposed to _be_ at the wedding,” Sterling frowned. “Why do we need to learn to dance if we aren’t officially attending it anyhow?”

“…because it will make your parents and sister happy; now get over here,” the Baroness replied. The young man complied and stood before her—the lad was getting so _tall_ —while she glanced over towards Oriana and Maglina. “Are you paying attention?”

“Yes, Mum,” Oriana nodded. She and her best friend watched as her mother placed one of Sterling’s hands on her lower back and held onto his shoulder while taking hold of his other hand.

“Now, this is the proper position for the sort of dancing you see at balls,” the Baroness explained. “See how his hand is on my back? That means he’s the lead, and leads step forward when dancing, while the follow steps backwards.” She turned her attention to Seren for a moment, giving him a nod that prompted him to start playing his music in a slightly fumbling manner. After walking Sterling through the steps, she let go of him, ignoring how he immediately placed a pace’s worth of distance between them. “Do you girls have any questions?”

“How do we know when to lead and when to follow?” Maglina wondered.

“Usually the men lead, but sometimes women do too, or they switch mid-song; it usually depends on the couple, the type of music, and how they’re feeling during that dance.”

“Oh, okay! I want to try now!” the smaller teen said cheerily.

“I do too!” Oriana insisted.

“Alright then,” the Baroness chuckled. “Maglina, come with me, dear. Sterling, take Oriana; we’re both going to lead, okay?”

“Y-Yes, ma’am,” Sterling gulped. He held onto Oriana at as far of a length as possible, waiting nervously for the cue to start. When the notes from Seren’s cello began again he went through the steps mechanically and kept himself from touching his dance partner more than was absolutely necessary.

“What’s wrong?” Oriana asked him. “Your hands are all sweaty. Are you nervous?”

“Don’t want to step on your toes, is all,” he lied. He silently begged the stars and gods and anything else that would listen to let the lesson be quick, fearing that an involuntary reaction could possibly get the better of him.

The dancing continued, with the partners switching up who led and who followed, until a courier arrived with a letter for the Baroness. She took it and excused herself from the lessons, leaving the teens and Seren by themselves.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Sterling?” Oriana wondered. He was helping Seren place the cello in its case, the instrument being too heavy for the boy alone. “Do you need me to call Mum back so she can look you over?”

“It’s fine, really,” he insisted.

“Sterling, don’t act like Papa and ignore your health until you’re falling over,” Maglina pouted.

“I’m not ignoring my health—I’m _fine_ ,” Sterling snapped. He then picked up the cello case and quickly left the ballroom, leaving Maglina and Oriana to stand there angrily, while Seren ran after him fast as his little legs could carry him.

“Hey Sterling! You forgot me!” the younger brother insisted. He chased him down the corridor, catching up once they reached the staircase. “Sterling? Why are you so cross?”

“I’m not I’m just…” Sterling glanced down at his brother and sighed, knowing there was a boundary he violated when it came to both his sister and their friend. “It’s a bit complicated, alright?”

“I guess,” Seren frowned. They reached the floor that contained the family’s wing and veered off towards the private study, where the cello was kept. “Is it that you don’t want to dance with Ori?”

“I don’t really want to dance with anyone,” Sterling replied. It was the honest truth—it was only that dancing with Oriana was the most dangerous for his sake. “I’d dance with Mama, or Lady Martha, or even Astra if she asked since it’s her wedding, but that doesn’t mean I’d enjoy it.”

“Why not? Dancing doesn’t look that difficult.”

“Maybe I’m just not the dancing sort.” Alright, he was headed back towards lies again. The teen knew he would willingly dance one day, with the recipient of his affections blushing in his arms, yet for now it was something he would much rather avoid. “Are you jealous that you don’t get to dance at Astra’s wedding?”

“A little, but I know it’s because I have to be at _least_ a teenager,” Seren said. He held open the door to the study and helped his brother place the cello away. “What if Grandmamma asks for a dance?”

“Then I dance—it’s better to do what she asks and make Mama and Grandpapa’s lives easier,” Sterling shrugged. He glanced down at his brother and noticed the far-off look in the boy’s eyes. “Hey, are _you_ doing okay?”

“Uh… yeah…? I think so. Why?”

“One of our sisters is getting married in a few weeks and you’re really little for having a sibling getting married… it makes sense.”

“Well, Olly is nice, and Astra marrying him will make him our brother, so I don’t mind,” Seren reasoned. He then drew inward, contemplating as quickly as his mind could process. “Sterling? Will Astra move far away and never come back?”

“I’m sure she’ll come back, but where she moves to is up to her and Olly,” Sterling said. “I think I remember him saying something about needing to return to Rhylls for at least a few months, but I could be wrong...”

“Can we go ask?” Seren wondered, his eyes growing wide. Any excuse to talk with the newest member of the family and he was there. “Can we? Can we?”

“He’s supposed to be in a meeting downstairs with Lena and—hey! Seren!”

Soon as the boy gleaned where he needed to go, he sprinted off towards the public offices. Although Sterling was quicker, Seren had enough of a head start to make it all the way down to where Lena, Olivier, and Astra were all gathered around a map that was spread out over a table.

“…and to what do we owe this surprise?” Lena asked. “Is Lady Martha finished with lessons already?”

“She had to leave—a letter came for her while we were practicing,” Sterling explained between gulps of air. “Seren…”

“Astra! I like Olly too, but I don’t want you to move away and never come back!” Seren interrupted. Olivier laughed at that, finding his future brother-in-law greatly amusing.

“Come here,” he urged the boy. Seren complied and stood on a chair next to Olivier so that he could see the entire map in front of them. “Now, can you show me where Gallifrey is on here?”

“Well, yeah, it’s up there,” Seren said, pointing towards the far side of the table.

“Exactly,” Olivier nodded, “and Rhylls is all the way over here.” He placed a finger on a cape that protruded into one of the southern bays, watching the boy’s face darken. “That’s a long way to go, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…”

“It usually takes anywhere from two and a half weeks to a month to go from Rhylls to the Kasterborsian border, depending on weather and how often you have to stop,” Olivier explained. “The postman can make it in less than two, but that’s because there’s thousands of postmen between the two places to carry letters when one tires out. Uncle Antoine, my mum, and I have talked about the distance too, since they’re as worried as you are.”

“Are they?”

“Intensely,” Astra added. “That’s why we’re showing Olly who lives where and what sort of roads are easier to navigate than others, so that he can decide how to establish trading routes between here and the capital. His uncle wants to expand business to the north, which means—”

“You can still live with us!” Seren gasped excitedly.

“I was thinking more the old Sladen Estate a short ride the city walls,” Olivier cut in. “It’s been empty for a while, which means no one has a claim, it’s very close, and keeping it up will show the local people that the Peladons don’t mean any ill will.”

“Didn’t the Sladens used to employ at least a dozen people?” Sterling wondered. “It would be good to have those jobs open again. Twelve isn’t very many, but it is more than there was before, and I’m sure there are decent people to fill the positions that need work.”

“Exactly; the Peladon-Lakertyas of Sladen House plan on being a positive influence within the community, hence why I feel no qualms over giving Olly a little insider information,” Lena winked. She then glanced at the clock on the wall and cleared her throat. “Astra? I believe we have your appointment with the seamstresses to meet.”

“Stars, we do,” Astra hissed. She pecked Olivier on the lips and the sisters left the room, abandoning the menfolk to their own devices.

“Won’t your mama be sad that you live so far away?” Seren asked, still staring at the map.

“She will be, but we’ve been planning on me moving north for a long time now, since before I met Astra, so she’s accepted the idea,” Olivier said. “I figure she’s going to visit whenever she can… say, do you want to go with me to the Sladen Estate? I have to go talk to the caretaker there sometime today anyhow.”

“Really…?!” Seren’s eyes lit up, going wide as saucers. “That sounds like fun!”

“Great! Let’s go tell your parents we’re going.” Olivier let Seren hop on his back and began to carry him out of the room. “Would you like to come along too, Sterling? The more the merrier.”

The teen considered it for a split second, with the thought of needing to practice dancing some more making up his mind for him. “Sure, why not? This way I’ll know how to get there for certain.”

“Then let’s go!” Seren cheered.

* * *

After informing the Marquis and Marchioness they were leaving (and promising they would be back for dinner), Olivier and Sterling each procured a horse from the stable and they set off, Seren riding with the former. Their destination was less than an hour from the castle walls, tucked away in a wood and surrounded by private land. The barons who originally kept the place were on very close terms with the marquisate, so much so that when the last baroness passed away, the Tenth Doctor and Eleventh Marquis set aside a small stipend to keep up the manor until someone trustworthy could purchase it. When Olivier had expressed interest in the place, his future father-in-law almost immediately drew up a deed agreement, making him the new owner pending a down payment that was to arrive when Serdar Peladon returned.

In the meantime, Olivier stayed interested in the happenings in and around Sladen House so that when the purchase was final, it wasn’t as though a stranger was taking over. The manor was one of considerable size, with vines covering the outer walls of both the building and the immediate property, giving it a very old, regal feel. There were various outbuildings in differing states of upkeep, though the more worn ones had building materials stacked by them. An old man came shuffling out of the side of the house, a large grin upon his face.

“Master Olivier! I was wondering when you’d get here!” he said. The caretaker took note of the extra riders and put things together quickly. “Taking the Young Lords Sterling and Seren to see where their sister is going to live?”

“This isn’t very far from home at all!” Seren exclaimed as Olivier helped him down from the horse. He bounced in the dirt yard, overflowing with excitement. “This means that Astra and Olly can still come over to the castle and have dinner and play games and wow!”

“Don’t tell him about how Astra and I want kids of our own,” Olivier muttered lowly at Sterling. “I’m _not_ going to be the one to tell him how all that works, let alone be the reason why he needs telling.”

“Right beside you,” Sterling replied. He then raised his voice so that his younger brother could hear. “Olly, is it alright if Seren and I explore the house for a bit while you and the caretaker talk?”

“I don’t see why not,” Olivier shrugged. He had the caretaker let the two into the manor, at which Seren rushed in, curious as to what was there.

After exploring the downstairs kitchens, the brothers went upstairs and began poking around. Everything was dusty and the furniture was covered in sheets, but it was clear that the former baroness had left plenty to go along with her house. There were a couple different libraries, some studies, a sitting room that looked over an untended garden, and even a hall that was big enough to host a small society party.

“This place is neat!” Seren giggled, twirling around as he looked at the finery of the hall. “Astra’s really going to live here?!”

“That’s what Olly said,” Sterling assured. He glanced at a portrait on the wall—a kindly woman in middle age—and looked at the inscription: Lady Sarah Jane, Baroness Sladen. “Hey, this is the last owner.”

“She looks like Grandmamma if Grandmamma liked fun,” Seren noted. “I bet she would’ve liked us.”

“Probably; Papa said his grandpapa liked to talk about how she was a lovely lady,” Sterling said. “She was good friends with Grandpapa Johan and Grandmamma Donata, apparently.”

“…but _everybody_ seems to know our family,” Seren said. “Mama and Papa _especially_ know everybody.” He then gasped and darted out of the hall. “Where’s the sleeping wing?!”

“Upstairs, probably,” Sterling answered, attempting to keep up. “Why?”

“I got to claim my room!”

“Seren!”

The boy was able to evade his brother’s grasp long enough to bolt up the stairs and into a bedroom. He threw himself on the bed and bounced up and down, dust billowing everywhere.

“Ugh! Seren!” Sterling scolded. He opened the window to let the breeze in and looked down, seeing Olivier and the caretaker still talking in the yard. “Olly! Seren’s trying to claim a bedroom!”

“There’s over ten of them! I think he can pick one for the time being!” Olivier laughed. “If my new kid brother can’t spend the night in his own room, then who can?”

“Aw, neat; then this one’s mine!” Seren exclaimed, jumping off the bed and tumbling on the floor. He began poking around in the cupboards and drawers, seeing if there was anything interesting. The boy was about to pull an old journal from the bottom of the wardrobe when Sterling smacked his hand away.

“You do realize these aren’t your things, correct?” the older brother scolded. “They were the late baroness’s, and now they’re Olly’s.”

“…but he won’t know what to do with this one,” Seren argued. He picked up the book and held it up, revealing the dust-coated cover and its golden-colored title. “It’s in Gallifreyan—he can’t read it!”

“Maybe he’s going to learn,” Sterling said, exhaling wearily. Giving up, he followed Seren as the boy went over to the sitting area and threw the cloth from the couch, sitting down comfortably with the book. They sat together as Seren opened the cover gingerly, making sure he did not break the old, worn binding.

“ _This journal belongs to Johan Alvis, Marquis and Doctor of Kasterborous and Gallifrey…!_ Sterling!”

“It’s Grandpapa Johan’s… I don’t know Seren…”

“I still wanna read it!”

“Here… I’ll read it to you. It looks like there’s some old spellings in it you don’t know yet.” Sterling took the book from Seren and waited until his brother settled in before starting on the first page. “ _I feel but a shell—it has been three weeks since I last saw my beloved, or, at least, whom I thought was she. My brother’s silver tongue seduced her, turned her wicked, and now I am without the two people whom I thought would be by my side for always._

“ _Sarah Jane keeps telling me I should stay with her for a few days, though I am not sure. She has long been trusted council, but what good would time away from my duties do? Gallifrey needs her Doctor and I am now the Last of the Time Lords…_ ”

“What are you two reading?” Olivier asked. Sterling and Seren glanced over their shoulders to see their future brother-in-law standing by the doorway, having come up to investigate which of the rooms the youngest brother had claimed. “That sounds like witchcraft.”

“It’s High Gallifreyan; we found a journal written by our papa’s grandpapa,” Seren said. “His brother tried to steal the governance chair from him and papa both, but they threw him out on his wrinkled old arse!”

“Seren!” his brother hissed.

“Well, that’s how Tara tells it,” the boy protested, not even paying attention to the fact Olivier sat down on the other side of him. “How am I supposed to know? Faolan the False tried to kick us out when I was a _baby_! I don’t remember things from when I was a _baby_!”

“That doesn’t mean you say rude things,” Olivier chuckled. “I don’t think Astra told me about this story—can you?” He then gave Sterling a knowing smile—of course he heard, but Seren wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

* * *

The sky was turning towards violet twilight as Olivier and Sterling rode back into Castle Gallifrey’s stables, Seren asleep in the older man’s grasp. A stable hand helped with removing the youngest lord from the saddle, though as soon as Olivier was on the ground himself, he hefted Seren onto his back and began to walk with him and Sterling into the castle.

“So, how late are we?” he wondered aloud.

“We’ll be lucky if we’re allowed to take Seren anywhere ever again,” Sterling replied. They had barely turned into the corridor with the dining room when they could hear Lena’s voice sarcastically cut through the air.

“They’re alive—no need to panic,” she said. The tardy ones approached where she was leaning on the doorjamb, nearly wanting to turn tail and run then and there. “We already ate; good to know you weren’t eaten by wild animals.”

“What a caring sister I’m gaining,” Olivier fired back jokingly. He made to turn into the room, yet stopped when the Marquis appeared mere inches from his face.

“…and where have you been?” he scowled.

“We lost track of time, Papa,” Sterling piped up. “We were exploring Sladen House and found an old journal of Grandpapa Johan’s; it’s from right after the failed coup.” He took the book from his cloak pocket and held it out, allowing his father to take it. The man flipped through it and handed it back before taking his youngest off of Olivier’s back.

“There’s sandwiches for you inside,” he muttered as he stormed away. Olivier and Sterling then slunk into the dining room, where they were greeted by their fiancée and mother respectively.

“You are going to be the death of us,” the Marchioness chided gently. “I thought you promised to be back in time.”

“We were planning on it, honest,” Sterling claimed. “What’s Papa going to do with Seren?”

“Just put him down for the night; nothing serious.”

“Now sit down and eat, both of you,” Astra ordered, “and tell us about Grandpapa Johan’s book. I’m sure it was very interesting.”

“I still think that language sounds like witchcraft,” Olivier stated. He and Sterling complied, however, explaining all about Sladen House and what they found there, including what was in the journal. Even though they had risked the Marquis’s ire by being late, it had still been an interesting day for what were now the three brothers… hopefully the first day of many.


	36. The Rhyllish Visitors (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was writing this chapter I thought I was going to be able to fit it all into one go, but apparently not. Oh, well–that just means more fic later!
> 
> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 72, Olly’s uncle(!) at 55, Clara at 53, Olly’s mom(!) at 52, Olly at 28, Lena at 22, Astra and Tara are nearly 20, Sterling at 16, Oriana at 14, Maglina at 13 (nearly 14), and Seren is 8.

“Mail for you, milady.”

Astra turned in her seat and watched as a letter carrier dropped a small stack of envelopes in the box on the edge of her desk. She laughed quietly at the sight, for she knew most, if not all, would not be of the fun sort.

“Thank you; never seems to end, does it?” she mused.

“At least for me it’s the good sort of never-ending,” the letter carrier joked before popping back into the corridor. Astra began to sort through her mail—many had to do with various audits that were being conducted throughout the march—until she saw familiar handwriting that made her drop everything else and open it then and there.

“ _Dear Astra_ ,” she read, “ _Mum, Uncle Antoine, and I are about a day away from Karra Pass at the southern Braxosi border. My guess is that we’re about ten days out from Gallifrey herself. I already know I’m going to have to apologize in advance for my uncle’s behavior—he’s agreed not to pass judgement until he’s met you, but he still doesn’t seem to be very enthusiastic. Mum is **curious** , for lack of a better word_…”

Glancing up at the calendar above her desk, Astra counted off the days from when the letter was dated. Olivier and his family would be arriving in four days—that was plenty of time to prepare and work her father into the idea of having visitors over. Her stomach roiled at the idea that so many people were going to be in shock in such a short time from then; it was almost too much to bear. There weren’t many who knew the whole truth of the matter and that thought was nearly as worrisome.

A knock at her door took her attention away from the letter to see that it was Tara, dressed in her military uniform. With her bobbed hair and extra muscle, it was much easier to see which twin was which from a distance, especially for their father.

“Hey, thought I might have lunch with you before I head out this afternoon,” she said. “Are you free?”

“Yes, of course,” Astra smiled. “I have to talk to you about something anyhow.”

Tara stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind her. “Talk now—I’d rather not be overheard on accident and there’s only so long we can keep up a conversation in our heads.”

“Olly’s coming in four days with his mum and uncle,” Astra said, pointing at the date on the calendar. “I had been hoping you’d get to meet them then, but,” she gestured at her twin’s outfit, “I guess not.”

“I’ll meet them eventually,” Tara shrugged. “I mean, who knows about them right now… just Lena and me, right?”

“Correct…”

“…so as long as at least one other person knows in time for the big reveal, you should be fine. It’s not like Papa is going to kick you out of the castle, let alone turn them away, because Lena will stick up for you and Mama wouldn’t stand for him being so obnoxious.”

“It’s still worrisome—you know how things are.”

“…and if I’m standing here, Academy-trained and ready to go knock some Daleks around, then you can bag yourself some serdarling to suck the face off of on a daily basis. You _are_ ready for that sort of commitment, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem.” Tara knelt down in front of her twin’s chair and held her by the shoulders. “We sisters have standards; I don’t let just anyone into my tent, and _I’m the_ _loose one_. You? There is not a doubt in my mind you’re only looking for the best. Stars, whatever sad sacks catch Lena and Maggie’s eyes are going to have to be bleeding _perfect_ at this rate…”

They both laughed at that; with one sister being impossible to please and the other not even at presentation age yet, making note of such a thing was near nonsense at this point. Standing up, the sisters hugged one another, neither wanting to let go.

‘ _I miss you already_ ,’ Astra projected into Tara’s mind.

‘ _And I miss you_.’

“Come on,” Tara said aloud, a grin upon her face. “Let’s go get some lunch. I’m not going to eat castle-quality food again for two months and I’m going to make the best of it.”

“Remember to describe military meals next time Seren gets picky about his food in your presence,” Astra requested. “He’d die within a week out on the front, but from starvation and not an enemy soldier.”

“Noted,” Tara laughed.

Once Astra cleared up her desk, the two sisters went off to get in a private meal together—when each send-off had the possibility to be the last, it was a tradition they had quickly developed in order to be at-peace with the vastly different paths their lives were taking. They visited and talked until it was time for Tara to leave, the twins getting in one last hug before they parted yet again.

At least Astra knew that Tara was behind her on this, whether she was in the castle or on the battlefield, and that made her feel a thousand times better. It meant that their parents would turn around eventually, for if she had two sisters on her side, then the rest of her siblings were sure to follow, and then their parents couldn’t refuse… she hoped.

* * *

The four days passed slowly, almost cruelly, for Astra as she awaited her fiancée’s arrival. On the day Olivier was scheduled to reach Gallifrey, she told her parents that she was having guests for dinner from her time auditing during breakfast and then spent the remainder of the day fretting and bracing herself for the imminent chaos that would ensue. By the time she took her tea with Lena, it was driving both sisters mad.

“You are going to break your hands wringing them like that,” Lena frowned, “that is, if you haven’t already given yourself an upset stomach from nerves.” They were both on the settee in her sitting area, wanting to have tea away from the rest of the family on such a nerve-testing day.

“I can’t help it,” Astra whimpered. “I mean, I got the note confirming that Olly was here earlier while I was in my office and now I can’t really think about anything else but Papa’s face doing that thing where it looks like he’s about to murder someone where they stand and Mama’s eyes just _inflating_ like they tend to do and oh stars Olly is going to take one look at all of us and back out saying I’m not worth it and…”

“Hey, hey, hey; stop that this instant,” Lena scolded gently. “You _are_ worth it. Not just _anyone_ can say that they’ve done as much as you have before their twentieth birthday, nor say they were as level-headed as you are. Nineteen and twenty-year-olds are fairly stupid as a whole, but you’re definitely an exception, and that’s not even the best of your qualities.”

“That doesn’t stop me from being scared.”

“You know, Sir Daniel told me once that it was better to be scared, because that means you know what’s at stake and will think about your actions clearer. I’d be worried if you weren’t scared.”

“…but he was talking about Sontarians.”

“Doesn’t matter—I hope that you will never have to see a Sontarian in person as long as you live, therefore, this is your battlefield and you have the ability to conquer whatever you face on it.”

“What if Olly gets angry when I tell him about using my telepathic abilities on him during the snowstorm?” Astra posed. “Maybe he’ll be upset because I didn’t tell him the whole truth about our family and then feel he cannot trust me…”

“If he has a problem with you not having told the entire truth about our family, then he’s got a lecture coming about what came out of his end,” Lena reminded her. She took a sip of her tea and sighed heavily. "Whatever happens, know I have your back.”

“Thanks,” Astra said quietly. “It’s going it be difficult if Olly and I don’t work out.”

“It will, but you have plenty more options than I do, and there’s not a doubt in my mind you’d recover.” Lena put an arm around her sister in a comforting hug. “You’ll get through this—I know you will.”

The only thing Astra hoped was that she was right.

* * *

That evening, Astra sat on a bench near the entrance of the castle waiting for her guests to arrive. People walked in and out of the building, deigning to not talk to the young lady once they saw how engrossed she was in watching out for someone. It took a while for her to find them, but as soon as she saw Olivier, she jumped from her seat and waved at him.

“Ah! Olly! There you are!” she gasped. She tried to restrain herself as she nearly ran up to him, clinging to him in a tight hug. Taking a deep breath, the smell of him flooded her senses, mentally sending her back to the merchant’s guild and private memories. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too,” he replied, kissing the top of her head. He then held her by the waist, presenting her to his mother and uncle. One glance at them and the young woman could tell they were siblings, yet the only clue that they were related to Olivier was the fact they shared coloring. “Astra, this is my mum, Alida Lakertya, and my uncle, Antoine Peladon, and… um… this is Astra Smith.”

“Seems you have a pretty face to go with your pretty name,” Alida smiled. She opened her arms wide and gave Astra a hug. “I’m glad to finally meet the famous Astra; there hasn’t been a girl that caught my son’s eye like you have since he was a little boy.”

“Why thank you,” Astra giggled. She then turned towards Antoine, looking at him hopefully as she shook his hand. “Congratulations are in order for your appointment, I believe.”

“Thank you,” he said with a nod. “It is an honor that His Majesty has finally recognized our family’s hard work and dedication to our trade, and I hope that remains instilled in my nephew’s line for many generations to come.”

“You will not find any resistance from me, Serdar Peladon,” Astra replied. “Now, let’s all go up to dinner—my family’s waiting. Everyone is here except my twin sister Tara, since she had an assignment back at the Daleki front that was unavoidable. She tried to stay long enough for our little sister’s birthday next week, but you know how things go. I’m sure those of us who are here though will all get on _splendidly_.”

“So, what is it exactly that your parents do for the Marquis again?” Antoine asked as they went through the castle. “Olly has been rather vague about it—he said they were servants, but also clerks…?”

“They have clerical duties, that’s true, but they’ve been serving the marquisate for decades… almost… gosh… eighty years between the two of them.”

“I didn’t realize your parents were that old…” Alida marveled.

“Oh, my father has Ancient Gallifreyan blood in him—the old tribes that used to live in and around Kasterborous before the pre-kingdom alliances were known to live twice as long as regular people,” Astra explained nervously. “He may be in his early seventies, but he _looks_ more mid-fifties. We of Ancient Gallifrey are known for long lives dedicated to our work.”

“Is that common up here?” Antoine wondered.

“In some communities,” she replied. “The Earldom and City of Gallifrey is a pretty good mix of people, meaning it’s more uncommon than rare here. There are villages in the march that are almost completely comprised of such people, so it all depends on where you are.” They then stopped in front of the lounge, where the doors were thankfully closed, which gave Astra the opportunity to give Olivier a quick look-over and she began to fuss over his clothes. “Alright, this is it.”

“Ugh, not you too,” he frowned. “Mum already checked me before we left the pub.”

“Get used to it, sweetie,” Alida chuckled. “She just wants you to look your best—the Marquis was kind enough to loan us a room to meet her family in, so who knows?”

“Well, this _is_ my best coat,” he defended. “Come on, it’s not like this is going to be earth-shattering; you said you told your elder sister already, right?”

“Her and Tara, but just them,” Astra admitted. After finally finding the jacket to her liking—the hair was just going to have to do—she held his hand again and smiled up at him. “Alright; let’s go in.”

As Astra was opening the door, Olivier imagined that the scene he and his family were about to walk in on would be fairly ordinary. There would be a man, white-haired and feeble, with a back bent from clerical work and a wife half his age on his arm. His two sons and other two daughters would be there, possibly still in whatever uniform they wore for work or school, and after some talking all of them would head down to the servants’ hall and eat. He would pull the old man aside after dinner and ask for permission to turn his daughter into a future sedaressa, ensuring she needn’t rely on the marquisate’s need for numbers unless she wanted to.

Instead, what Olivier, his mother, and uncle found made a heavy weight sink in the former’s chest. The room was not a spare on-loan by grant of the marquis, but was occupied by the Marquis himself. His eyes went wide as he froze up and began to quickly scan the room; yes, this was definitely a room currently occupied by the hereditary rulers of the March of Kasterborous… the hereditary rulers and three strangers from Rhylls.

“Everyone, I’d like you all to meet Olivier Lakertya, his mother Alida, and his uncle, Serdar Antoine Peladon of Peladon Shipping and Freight in Rhylls,” Astra announced sweetly. “Olly, this is my family: Mama and Papa, Lena, Maggie, Sterling, and Seren.” She pointed everyone out and looked up at her fiancée. “So…?”

“Um, Astra…” Olivier leaned down and whispered in her ear, trying to ignore the fact that her sisters were giggling and her father was glaring. “I thought you said your parents were _servants_ …”

“We are servants of the state, so you can be assured you weren’t wholly lied to,” the Marquis glowered. He stepped forward and held out his hand. Olivier shook it, despite the fact he did not seem friendly in the slightest. “So you met my daughter while she was auditing one of the guilds, am I correct?”

“Y-Yes sir,” he stammered. “We became good friends while staying in the merchants’ guild and kept corresponding after going our separate ways. You have a very charming daughter, milord.”

“Johan and Clara, _please_ ,” the Marchioness insisted as she approached the conversation in full diffusing mode. “It is a pleasure to meet you all—there are no formalities here between friends, so none of this milord and milady business.” Recognizing the situation for what it was, she grabbed hold of Olivier and Alida’s arms, dragging them away towards safety. “Come; you must tell me all about yourselves. What do you trade in, if your family business is mercantile in nature?”

“Dry goods, mostly,” Alida replied, her voice light as though in shock. As she and Olivier began to explain the family’s company with Antoine following close behind, another conversation was beginning to intensify.

“ _What_ in the name of the march has come over you, child?!” the Marquis hissed lowly. “You said you invited some _friends_ and instead you drag in this ragamuffin who seems genuinely shocked that we are who we are despite how he was holding your hand, not to mention pulling his _family_ into this. Explain yourself.”

“Olly and I _are_ good friends, and all I did was use the story that Tara did when she attended the Academy,” Astra snapped. “We kept one another company while we were snowed in and further letters proved to the both of us that it wasn’t snow-fever claiming two more hearts.”

“ _Company_ … you know how that sounds.”

“I know very well how that sounds, Papa, and we didn’t dare be any more intimate than you and Mama while in court.” She put her hands on her hips and imitated his scowl. “I think I love him.”

“You _think_ , that is all. We will talk about this later.”

“Papa, we will talk about this _now_ ,” Astra demanded. “Olivier and I fell in love without knowledge of who one another truly was; you can’t get much better than that.”

“May I interrupt?” Lena asked, sliding into the conversation. “I have to say, Astra, the one you picked isn’t hard on the eyes.”

“Lady Lena Anthea, Earlessa of Gallifrey and the Northern Lands, don’t you _dare_ try to get your sister out of this,” the Marquis scowled.

“I’m not trying to get her out of anything,” Lena replied. “Olivier is a good match made away from the carnival show that is the Season; we should all be very proud.” She then hooked her arm with her sister’s and began to lead her away. “Mama has suggested that we all go through to dinner; we don’t want to keep the cook waiting, now do we?”

Fuming, the Marquis watched as everyone else went into the dining room. He _knew_ it had been a terrible idea to let Astra go out into the city unguarded for such a long period of time; it was not even her birthday and she was dragging in a suitor, saying that she was _in love_. A chill went up his spine as he began to follow the others—if the boy brought his mother and uncle with him all the way from Rhylls, then it was more serious than mere courting. He went into the dining room and sat down, taking his customary seat, although instead of his wife sitting next to him as on most nights, it was the woman Alida.

“I’m sorry—they told me to sit here,” she said when she saw his face. The Marquis noted how terrified she looked and attempted to rein himself in.

“Whomever it was made you sit in the proper place,” he replied. Thankfully, Seren was sitting on the other side of her and gently tugged on her sleeve to get her attention.

“I’m confused—are you Ms. Lakertya or are you Lady Lakertya?” the boy wondered.

“Oh, I’m not a Lady of anything,” she replied. “I can be Ms. Lakertya or Ms. Alida if you wish.”

“Is it okay, Papa?”

“Yes, if that is what she wishes,” he assured. He had to remind himself that it was not their fault, or else the dinner ahead was going to be a very long and awkward one.


	37. The Rhyllish Visitors (II)

Dinner was, as expected, a rather interesting affair. Astra’s guests were slowly eased into conversation and the only one who purposefully did not hold back on questions was Seren, whose curiosity was emphasized by his young age. By the time dinner was done with the lad had thoroughly learned about the concept of supply and demand, as well as monetary inflation—things he was still slightly confused over, yet very interested in. He had nearly talked the new serdar’s ear off when the Marchioness made a decision.

“How about if we do things a little more traditional tonight, since we have guests over that even out our numbers,” she suggested. “We don’t often split up but I think it would be interesting for a change to have the men in the lounge and the women in the drawing room. What do you think, Johan?”

“That is an excellent idea, dearest,” he replied. “Sterling, Seren, you two may come along with us as long as you allow me a few moments with our guests first.”

“…but Papa! Serdar Peladon was talking about interesting stuff!” Seren protested.

“Serdar Peladon, his nephew, and I have some things to discuss first,” the Marquis said. “Sterling? You will keep your brother busy, won’t you?”

“Yes, Papa,” the teen replied. As the men went towards the lounge, the women headed into the drawing room together, immediately ringing the bell for some tea upon entering. It was an ornate room, with paintings and lace doilies and delicate pieces of furniture neatly arranged throughout. Alida, still slightly taken aback by the situation, simply floated into the room in a dazed blur; she never would have guessed that her son had fallen in love with a member of high society, but then again, her son had seemed just as surprised as she was.

“Are you alright, Ms. Alida?” Maglina wondered, sitting down next to her on the settee. “You seem a bit in shock.”

“I’m still having a hard time taking this all in,” Alida replied honestly. “Everyone has been so welcoming and kind, which makes things _loads_ easier, but…”

“It is a bit of a surprise for most of us, don’t worry,” the Marchioness replied. “The only two who seemed to have the slightest clue as to what was happening were my eldest two daughters.” She turned her attention towards Lena and Astra, the latter of whom shrunk back while the former shrugged.

“We took a risk doing things this way instead of out in the open in order to do the least amount of damage possible,” Lena said. “I wouldn’t have blamed Olly if he didn’t believe Astra if she said who she really was via letter, therefore breaking it off early, and while it’s never a _good_ idea to surprise Papa, it was definitely a _better_ idea than telling him beforehand and potentially having Olly arrested for being in love as though this was some tawdry romance novel.”

“I still wish you would have at least told me,” her mother frowned.

“The fewer the better—it was only Tara and me entrusted with the secret, not because we cannot trust you, Mama, but because secrets are safer with fewer mouths to tell.”

“I suppose that is correct,” the Marchioness frowned. Tea came and once the maid left, she turned her attention towards Alida. “I do hope you can stay for a while—we have spare rooms in the castle for you and your family to use at your leisure.”

“Oh, we’ve already booked a room at the pub,” Alida replied. “I can’t impose…”

“People with less manners and even less charm have imposed rather insistently before—it would be our pleasure to host you and your family,” the Marchioness assured. “We will deal with that later, though. For now, you must tell us about how _you_ feel about this match our children got themselves into.”

“How else should a mother react to her only child coming home saying he got engaged without any prior warning?” Alida posed. The word had not been said yet that night, yet it was something that the entire dinner party, sans the thankfully-oblivious Seren, seemed to know was implied immediately. “He’s never been flippant about women, so I did the only thing I could and trust in that he found himself a good person from a decent family and hope for the best. Now that I’ve met everyone, I think I can safely say that my boy was not wrong with his choice.”

“Thank you,” Astra squeaked. She was trying to make herself seem as small as possible, though it was difficult considering she was already completely backed into the settee. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

“Don’t be sorry for falling in love, dear,” Alida said. “It’s always trouble, even when it’s not. Even when people are old and grey they can get into trouble because of love. I’m sure there are those going about this much worse than you and Olly are—I’ve barely seen him without a lift in his step since he met you, and that has to count for something.”

“It got me not only into trouble, but married off to my husband,” the Marchioness mentioned. When she saw the look of confusion on her guest’s face, she took a sip of tea and grinned. “Johan and I weren’t one another’s first choice, though that didn’t stop us from falling in love anyhow.”

“That is a bold admission, milady,” Alida marveled.

“No miladies here, please,” Lena insisted. “Even if we don’t become family, you seem like a good friend to have and friends are better with fewer formalities.”

“That _is_ something I need to get used to,” Alida admitted. She breathed a sigh of relief and sipped at her tea—at least this was going much better than she had anticipated.

* * *

Over in the lounge, the men and boys were settling in for the evening. The Marquis had sent away the servant who followed them in, insisting on remaining alone, though the room was not without its comforts. While Sterling had Seren on the far side of the room playing cards, their father had their guests sitting by a warm fire crackling in the hearth. He was about to sit down when a thought came to him.

“I need a drink for this; do you two drink?”

“Not a lot, but I had enough at dinner to indulge, I think,” Olivier replied. He watched as the Marquis crossed the room and drew open the doors to a tall oaken cupboard, the contents of which were a great many different crystal bottles and drinking glasses. The Marquis was getting ready to pour when Seren came running up to him, tugging at his cape.

“Papa, may Sterling and I have juices?” the boy wondered.

“You may ring for them, starlet,” his father said. As the Marquis prepared the adults’ drinks, Seren politely ordered some apple juice from the maid that answered his call.

“You’ve got a good boy there,” Antoine said as he accepted a drink from his host. “A real talker, but he behaves impeccably.”

“My wife and I have taught our children that manners matter, from His Highness the King all the way to the basest born, for respect is something earned, and that if we are to lead our people, we mustn’t be so distant that those under our command despise us,” the Marquis explained. He gave Olivier a drink and sat down with his own. “Mercy begets mercy, and it is easier to sow in soil tilled with respect.”

“Very wise,” Antoine agreed. “You are one of the more reasonable lords I’ve met in my short time as a serdar, and that is the honest truth.”

“Thank you,” the Marquis nodded. He waited until the maid that arrived with his sons’ drinks left before turning towards Olivier, who was sitting in the chair across from him. “Now, explain to us why you are here; we are not dense and it’s been written all over your face the entire night.”

“To be frank, sir, I think this is the sort of conversation we should be having alone,” the young man said.

“No,” he replied. “Your uncle and I were equally shocked earlier, and considering you are to be the one to inherit his title, he should at least know all the facts before things progress from here.”

Olivier exhaled and stared at the drink in his hand. He knew this discussion was not going to be an easy one, though he never imagined how difficult it truly would be. “Uncle Antoine, Mum, and I have all agreed that I would be the one to head the company’s expansion to the northern end of the kingdom. While I thought I was coming up here to meet a clerk and his family, my intentions are still the same: Astra is a uniquely wonderful woman and, since you are the head of the household, I would like your blessing to marry her.”

“…and you think you can make her happy?”

“I don’t think, I _know_ , sir,” Olivier assured. “She makes great conversation and is already sage counsel. There’s just this feeling I get when I hear her laugh, like the stars in the sky are a bit brighter, and I want to always feel that way. She is mature beyond her years, and I can see us being very happy together.”

“You do realize that Astra is the first of my daughters to bring home a legitimate suitor asking for her hand, correct?” the Marquis asked. When Olivier nodded in response, he continued. “I believe you when you say that you had no idea she is second in line to my title, but that doesn’t make me any less wary.”

“Nor I,” Antoine added. “With all due respect, milord, but I know my nephew well, raising him like my own, and this behavior has been unlike him. They were snowed in for a time, that’s all; I am divorced because of a snowstorm.”

“That is another concern I have,” the Marquis said. “You and your sister are both divorced and while I do not judge you for it, children of divorce often end up in a similar situation down the road. Olivier, I trust you realize that you are now a part of high society thanks to your uncle, and divorce is extremely difficult to come by once you enter into this world thanks to how political alliances often come into play. Even if you stayed an untitled merchant, Astra is still in a line of inheritance—entering into a marriage with her would near-permanently bind the two of you, even if you happen to fall out of love in a few years’ time.”

“My father didn’t start out bad, but in the end he taught me how not to treat a family,” Olivier replied. “I never want my wife to cry herself to sleep like Mum did, nor do I want to show up after over a year’s absence only to have her brother toss me out on my arse. My father was an unfaithful vagabond and I am not my father. I have not married yet _because_ I am looking for someone I can be with forever so I don’t inherit his mistakes.”

“Good to hear.” The Marquis sipped at his drink and allowed his eyes to flit over towards his sons and back. They were behaving, making his own conversation easier to concentrate on. “Then are you ready and willing to provide my daughter with a loving and lasting relationship, help her raise any children you have, keep your family safe, and above all: treat my daughter with the respect she deserves while conducting yourself in a manner befitting someone in line of a serdarship who is wed to a possible heir to a marquisate?”

“I am, sir,” he affirmed.

“Olly, are you _certain_ that Astra is The One? I mean, you started the relationship under false pretenses… both of you did… and there’s no shame in admitting that you might have made a mistake now before you break one another’s hearts,” Antoine mentioned. “Not admitting that if you know it is true would only hurt the both of you.”

“I’m certain, Uncle Antoine.”

“Then go do what you came here for,” the Marquis said. Olivier put down the remainder of his drink and walked out of the room, allowing the two lords time to talk. “He at least seems genuine in his feelings—I’d rather he be foolish and genuine than anything else.”

“We’re all fools when we become excited over a new love,” Antoine said. “I’m sure you were when you were getting ready to propose to your wife.”

“Clara and I were a well-made political match at first; courting came after the marriage,” the Marquis admitted. “It makes things easier to swallow by thinking of this union between my daughter and your nephew as a political venture instead of one made during the snows.”

“I was thinking on the way up that at least he would be marrying a northern woman, which would look good considering what he plans on doing for the company,” Antoine shrugged. “You know that any reservations I’ve had have not been because of your daughter specifically, right?”

“They are the same ones I would have had if it were the reverse—nothing to worry about,” the Marquis replied. It was then that a knock at the door took away their attention, revealing the Marchioness as she popped her head in. “What’s the matter, dearest?”

“Come here, please,” she requested. The Marquis went and joined his wife in the corridor, allowing her to drag him along towards a window where they were able to gaze out onto the gardens where Olivier and Astra were sitting on a stone bench together. “Look at her, Johan… it makes my heart want to burst.”

“No longer a child tugging at my cape, that’s for certain,” he frowned sadly. “She’s so young though… she’s clever, but there’s still so much of the world she doesn’t know yet.”

“Olly will show her, and whatever he doesn’t, there’s always us,” she said. “Children never really stop needing their parents—our owlets will never be too far from the nest.”

“They shall always desire their mother’s care, for despite the silver crowning her head, she is still the same beautiful, warm, loving person she was when they were small,” he murmured. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her atop her head tenderly. “How was I so fortunate to have you as my wife?”

“…by being an idiot,” she chuckled. The Marchioness reached up and pulled her husband in for a proper kiss, one that she broke with a small giggle. “Doctor Idiot… mine and mine alone.”

“Until the end of our days.”

* * *

Olivier stood in front of the closed drawing room door, taking deep breaths to steady his nerves. He knew he was going to be terrified of asking properly, but now, with all the things that had happened over the past few hours, he was absolutely mortified. Raising a fist, he knocked on the door and made the plunge.

“Astra? Can I have a word with you?”

A moment passed and Astra appeared at the door. She gave him a nervous smile, which told him she was just as worried.

“Yes, of course,” she said. Turning back, she glanced at the Marchioness for a second. “Mama, I’m going with Olly.”

“Go ahead dear,” she replied. Astra slipped into the corridor and hooked her arm with Olivier’s, pulling him along.

“I know where we can go and be alone, but they can still watch over us, because I know they will want to watch,” she said. She led him outside into the garden, where a warm breeze was letting them know that summer was soon approaching.

Finally, _alone_ , for the first time since reuniting—Astra pulled Olivier’s face down into a kiss, which he reciprocated gently for a moment before pulling away.

“So… it seems as though neither of us were exactly truthful, were we?” he mused, placing some hair behind her ear that had escaped.

“I never meant to deceive you, but I was afraid you’d change if you knew I was Lady Astra instead of Astra the Accountant,” she sighed. “It would be falling in love for the wrong reasons, and the last thing I want is for a title to get in the way. Considering your uncle’s position, something tells me you thought similarly.”

“That _was_ part of why I never said anything; the rest is that it doesn’t matter, not that it was a deception, and I see you as having done the same thing,” he said. They sat down together on a bench, holding hands and leaning against one another underneath the red sky. “What I don’t understand now is why you were so willing and ready to be with me, despite the fact I was, for all you knew, baseborn and untrustworthy.”

“I’ve never been concerned about titles—the friend of Mama’s who tutored us growing up was a poor soldier’s orphan before he ended up being gifted with a barony by His Highness, and would have been our tutor and friend no matter what happened, baron or not,” she explained. “As far as knowing if you were trustworthy… um…”

“Astra…? What’s the matter?”

“You remember when I said earlier how Papa is descended from the Ancient Gallifreyans, yeah? Well, my siblings and I inherited quite a few things from that bloodline. Not only do we suspect that we will live long lives, we also have a couple extra things that we can do like withstand heat and cold much better than normal, and then there’s the mental capabilities with heightened thought and telepathy and—”

“Telepathy? Did I hear that right?” Olivier interrupted.

“Uh-huh,” Astra nodded quietly. “Papa is a touch-telepath, as are most of my siblings, but Tara and I are much more powerful than that. If we concentrated hard, we could contact one another with her all the way over on the front while I’m in Gallifrey. There are laws though, about what telepaths can and cannot do inside another person’s mind, since someone’s mind is their own and no one else’s.”

“Did you read my mind?” he wondered.

“No, but I did read the emotions you were projecting; everyone without mental training projects certain emotions and thoughts, and even those with the ability to shut their mind off from the world don’t do so all the time.”

“So… you read my emotions…? That’s… _odd_ …” He stared at a stone on the garden pathway in concentration, attempting to process the information. “That must mean that whatever you sensed told you that I wasn’t there to do you any harm.”

“It felt like when my parents don’t guard their feelings for each other, or when Sir Daniel and Lady Martha are together, and knowing that you were looking at me the way they do one another… it felt like the best sort of magic there is.” She went quiet after that, allowing the sounds of the warm night to be the only thing that passed between them.

“Don’t tell Mum or Uncle Antoine about that,” Olivier said after a while. “Whenever someone is born with those sorts of powers in the southern lands, they’re seen as witches and cursed. You… you just wanted to make sure you were safe… and I cannot blame you for that. Actually, I’m rather glad you did it, considering the circumstances.” He squeezed her hand gently, assuring her that he was still holding on. “Please never do that to me again unless I know about it.”

“I promise, Olly,” Astra vowed. She tried to blink away tears from her eyes, only instead for Olivier to start dabbing at them with a handkerchief.

“Hey, no sad tears,” he chuckled, attempting to change the mood. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I’d like to tell you about another southern superstition.” She nodded silently and he continued. “When a couple wants to marry, one of them decides to buy the other a ring to propose with—but not just any ring, one with a gemstone in it.”

“Do they still exchange rings during marriage?”

“Yeah, but here is the superstitious part: the gemstone represents something significant about the couple and why they are in love. Diamonds are very popular right now, but it isn’t supposed to be only what’s pretty, but it needs a deeper meaning than that. It’s that stone which contains all the luck the couple needs for their incoming marriage to make it long-lasting and happy.”

Olivier reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box. When he opened it, Astra saw a ring inside: a pale metal with an amethyst set into it. She watched as he went down on one knee before her once again, holding the box out.

“This is me asking properly, having talked to your papa and my uncle first, with a gem to signify the violet winter sky we met under.” Astra bit her lower lip to keep herself from bursting into tears, instead placing her hand on the side of his face and projecting a word into his mind.

‘ _Yes_.’

“Okay—I need to get used to that,” he chuckled. He took the ring and placed it on her left hand, finding that it was only slightly loose. “Wow, pretty good fit for a guess.”

“It is, isn’t it?” she croaked. She then kissed him, lunging forward so that they were sitting on the ground with her in his arms. They were engaged to be married, and neither of their families were cross about it; very little could bring them down from their high now.

“Astra? Why are you kissing Olly?”

The couple glanced over and saw Seren standing nearby, utter confusion slapped across his face.

“I am going to marry Astra,” Olivier explained as they both stood. “How would you like that? I can be your new brother that way.”

“That’s how it works?” Seren questioned. He climbed up onto the bench and hopped on Olivier’s back when he was offered a ride, though the boy was still wrapped up in thought. “So if Lena and Maggie get married, then Sterling and I will have three extra brothers, right?”

“That about sums it up.”

“Okay; you’re my brother now,” Seren decided. Astra patted him on the back, glad that he was so easily placated, for she knew that in the weeks ahead, things would be anything but peaceful in Castle Gallifrey.


	38. The Primaries' Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to go back in time a bit with this one! The Astra Gets Married Saga shall continue momentarily.
> 
> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 54, Daniel at 37, Clara at 35, Lena at 4, and the twins at 2.

Waking from his nap, the Marquis smiled to himself as he relished the position he was in. While his wife was not there, his daughters all were, and the three were cuddled against him sleepily. Clutching stuffed animals and snoring softly, the sight of them made his heart swell in joy. He was no longer the last of his line and it felt like nothing he could have ever imagined.

Quietly, the Marchioness crept out of the nursery and over to the bed. She pecked her husband on the forehead and ran a hand over his hair affectionately.

“Time to get up,” she whispered.

“Do we have to?”

“I’m afraid so.” She picked up Astra, who was nearest to her, and bounced her gently against her shoulder. “Come on sweetie—naptime’s over.”

The toddler groaned and burrowed her face in her mother’s chest, causing both of her parents to chuckle. Once her sisters gently woken, the family went down to the office again so that the adults could return to their work. The girls all scribbled quietly on paper scraps, creating masterpieces to present to their parents later, though their parents were engaged in a quiet conversation on the other side of the room.

“Clara,” the Marquis whispered while he stared at a notice in front of him. “We are to open the schools next week.”

“We open them every year, Johan.”

“Yes, but this should be the year that Lena begins attending.” Both allowed their eyes to flick towards their eldest for a moment before returning to the conversation. “You know the people will ask.”

“I’m sure they will also suppose we will have the girls tutored, like most members of nobility,” the Marchioness replied. “It’s not like we’ve made an effort to outwardly _despise_ anyone under our governance as some others do.”

“…which is why we have far fewer problems in that regard compared to some of our peers,” he agreed. “I still don’t know—Lena would be safer here, and Daniel’s been prepar—”

“Would you rather I handle it?” she interrupted.

“Well… I…”

“Lena? Darling?”

“Yes, Mama?”

“Come here, please.”

Lena put her crayon down and bounced over towards her parents, tilting her head curiously when she saw the expressions on their faces. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, you’re not,” the Marchioness assured her gently. “I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to the Primary next week when I open it for the new school year.”

“Why isn’t Papa going? Don’t both of you do it?”

“Normally, yes, but this year is a special year, and I’d like to know if you want to be there.”

“Okay,” the young girl said cheerily. “Will Astra and Tara go next year with Papa?”

“We’ll see, starlet,” the Marquis said. He allowed her to go back to her artwork and frowned at his wife. “What are you planning?”

“As excellent as you are with our children, this is something that I think would be better for me to do alone,” the Marchioness told him. She gently squeezed his hand and pecked his lips with hers, attempting to put his mind at-ease. It did not work as well as she had hoped, though it made him quiet on the matter, which was all she really needed for the moment. They returned to their work and made no more mention of it that day—time would tell how well her plan would work.

* * *

It was time to keep their appointment with the Gallifreyan Primary, in which the Marchioness would be the speaker at a school-wide assembly to welcome the students back from the summer heat and months of decent-weather play that was to keep them focused on a goal throughout the school year. Get through this year while earning good marks and one could frolic the days away with their friends during the between-year break; poor marks could mean being in the over-warm, stuffy, insanity-inducing school building while everyone else was enjoying themselves, and the students all knew it.

After the assembly, however, and the Marchioness took her daughter from the guards’ sides and they went together to the Year Ones’ classroom. The children froze when they saw who was standing in the doorway, mortified at the fact they had a surprise visit from the Marchioness herself.

“Welcome Milady Marchioness, Milady Earlessa,” the teacher said with a bow. “Class, what do you say?”

“Good morning Lady Clara, Lady Lena,” the class said in unison. Lena stuck close to her mother while she saw all the other kids staring at them, wondering what was going to happen.

“Good morning—it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the Marchioness replied. She placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder supportively, silently urging her on.

“Good morning—it’s good to meet you,” the girl mumbled, not knowing whether she should be terrified or not.

“Thank you for taking time to be with us today; it is something I greatly appreciate,” the Marchioness continued. The teacher offered her and Lena both chairs, which they graciously took seats in. “My daughter and I have something very important to talk with you about that I think is important to hear in person, so that I am certain that you understand.”

 _That_ caught their attention if she didn’t have it already: what could the Marchioness need to say to them that was so important she had to say it herself? A few children in the back of the room whispered excitedly—none of their siblings talked about visits from the Marquis or Marchioness like this, that was for certain.

“As you might be able to guess, Lady Lena is your age,” she said.

“Is Lady Lena going to be our classmate?!” a child gasped.

“Hush! Let Her Ladyship finish!” the teacher scolded.

“That’s alright, and no, unfortunately not,” the Marchioness answered. “That’s what I’m here to explain to you today. Before I begin, does anyone know where I was born?”

“Oh! Blackpoole!” shouted a child towards the back.

“Very good,” she nodded. “That was where I was born and raised, where my parents taught me as a little girl that there are very few differences between the basest-born child and one born to the King and Queen. My Lord Husband and I might have been born into positions of power, but there are great costs involved. Yes…?”

“What do you mean?” asked a student, hand raised timidly. “Do you have to pay for the governance chair? How much does it cost?”

“We don’t pay for our power with money or things,” the Marchioness explained. “We pay in other ways… some so terrible and steep that we wish it was just money. Sometimes it involves dealing with other lords and ladies who might not be that nice, or being responsible when things go bad, or even having little time to spend alone or with one’s family because duties lie elsewhere. When I was old enough to be in the Blackpoole College, my mother paid that price by dying. Cruel people attempting to kidnap her in order to gain fame and fortune killed her on accident. She loved Blackpoole and her people, which meant that she never expected it. Neither did Blackpoole, now that I think about it, and the memory of that means that I made my choice about where Lady Lena will go to school long ago, before she was even born.”

She paused, making sure she still had the class’s attention, before continuing. “You look at my daughter and see a possible classmate, and that makes me very happy to know, but there are people out there who look at her and see a way to get money, or make a protest about a law. It wouldn’t matter if the marquisate was broke and the law was made by His Majesty and enforced by his soldiers alone, because that’s how those people think, and it’s very difficult to find who they are until it is too late. That’s why Lady Lena won’t be your classmate, and instead she will be tutored within Castle Gallifrey, by someone whom His Lordship and I trust with our lives. He will make sure she learns everything you need to learn while making it so that everyone is safe as possible.”

“Are _we_ in danger, milady?”

“I should hope not, but as wonderful as this world is, there are dangers for everyone who live in it,” she said. “If Lady Lena attends school here, she would wear a uniform like everyone else, and the only possible way I would feel worse than hearing that my daughter was kidnapped would be to hear that one of you was taken by mistake instead.”

The children sat quietly, reflecting on the information. It would be fun to have their future liege lady as their classmate, but sitting through lessons with her made it dangerous for everyone. It wasn’t very fair, that was for certain, though it seemed like the Marchioness was very sad to say those words and thought it was even less fair than they did. She even talked about losing her mum to bad people and that made them even sadder because losing their mums would be even worse.

“Does anyone have any questions?” she wondered, pulling them from their thoughts. “Please, now is the time to ask.”

“Who is going to be Lady Lena’s tutor?” a child asked.

“His name is Lord Rupert Daniel Pink, Baron Coal-on-the-Hill, but for most of his life he was just Daniel Pink the Common Soldier. Some of you might have soldiers in your family who served next to him on the northern borders, defending Kasterborous from invaders. He was born with nothing and has not changed now that he has a title; he has promised to make sure that influences how he trains Lady Lena.”

“I’ve heard about Baron Pink! My uncle told me he has metal on his face because of Cyberans kidnapping him!” a student declared. “No one was captured by Cyberans and came back still themselves before him! He’s a _hero_!”

“I hear he looks really scary!” another child chimed in.

“He’s not!” Lena said. “He has metal on his face and hands, but he’s one of the nicest people I know. Sir Daniel looks a bit different, but that’s because he did his best fighting for Mama and Papa in the Border Forces and knowing that makes him not scary.” She paused when she realized the entire class was looking at her, swallowed hard, and continued. “Mama and Papa say that everyone has something or someone they grow up thinking is okay when others say is weird—and Sir Daniel is that for me.”

“Lady Lena? Can you at least be our classmate today?” a student asked. The girl in question looked at her mother, stormy eyes wide and pleading.

“Yes, she may, but only until it is time to leave,” the Marchioness said. The children cheered happily and Lena was allowed to sit in one of the spare desks while her mother went to the Headmaster’s office for a small chat about the upcoming school year. It was a day they talked about for a long time to come, and was one that made their siblings and friends jealous at their fortune. They understood why it was only for the day, and that was alright; wanting to be safe was something all of them could agree on and if that meant they lost a classmate, then so be it.

* * *

The following week, Lena made sure to dress nicely as she prepared for the day ahead. She chose her favorite dress and had her mother braid her hair. Instructing her toy lion to watch over the nursery diligently until her return, she made sure all her toys were in order before going down to breakfast. Then, instead of heading with her parents and sister towards the offices, the Baron came at the end of the meal to fetch her.

“Are you ready, Lena?” he asked.

“Uh-huh! Just a moment!”

With a kiss for both parents and her sisters given hugs, the young earlessa followed her family’s friend throughout the castle corridors to a room she had never seen before. Maps hung on the walls, above shelves of books that went around the perimeter of the room with exceptions where the bookcases went all the way to the ceiling. A large writing slate like her father sometimes used was sitting in front of a table covered in writing pads, pencils, and crayons, everything all neat and tidy.

“This is the schoolroom?” Lena marveled, looking all around the room.

“That it is,” the Baron replied. “This is where most of our lessons will be held, and where Astra and Tara will join us in a couple years, and where we are going to have to spend more and more time as you get older and need to learn more things per day.”

“How much will I need to learn?” she wondered. “Will I need to take the same tests as the kids in the Primary? What about the College? The Academy? Are you going to teach me about Gloucester and Coal-on-the-Hill, or just Kasterborous? What…?”

“Whoa, hey, slow down there,” he chuckled. The Baron felt it was a good thing they were starting off with morning classes only or else she would wear herself out with questions alone before teatime. “Would you like me to show you my plan for what you’re going to learn? It’s not wholly complete yet, and won’t be until I can gauge at what speed you learn certain subjects, but I can let you see what is there so far.”

“Yes!” the girl gasped. She sat down at the table and waited impatiently as her new tutor dug his notes out of his other notes, simply happy to be there.

Later on, as Lena sat down to lunch with her family, she talked excitedly—nearly non-stop—about her time with Sir Daniel and what he said she was going to learn. She said that she would be taking correspondence courses with the Royal University one day, and that she would one day know all that she needed to govern Kasterborous, and more. Her sisters were inspired and her parents encouraging; Lena was on the right track to being a life-long learner, and the more she knew, the better off Gallifrey and Kasterborous would be in the end.


	39. The Union

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough ages are as follows: David at 73, Johan at 72, Daniel and Antoine 55, Clara and Alida at 53, Martha at 50, Olly at 28, Lena at 22, Astra and Tara at 20, Sterling at 16, Oriana and Maglina at 14, and Seren at 8 ¾

Before long it was time for the wedding that would bind Olivier and Astra in body, soul, and law. The bride wore a dress of silver, honoring a traditional Rhyllish color, whilst her groom wore a suit and cape of brilliant Gallifreyan blue. There were plenty in attendance, from the lesser lords and ladies of the area, to common businessmen and guild heads. It was Astra’s status as the Earlessa of Gallifrey’s heir that ensured the ceremony and guests were as grand as they were, for not a one wanted to miss the marriage of their potential liege lady, and therefore the large governance hall was filled with wellwishers as the young couple exchanged vows and kissed one another for the first time as husband and wife.

It was soon after that the party really began, for another hall had been prepared for dinner during the ceremony, allowing family and guests alike to seamlessly go from the ceremony to the feast. Astra and Olivier wandered the crowd, thanking those in attendance personally. They had only just finished when it was announced that the meal was soon to begin, prompting them to rush towards the table atop a dais where both of their families sat. Olivier took the seat next to his mother and Astra her father, though the latter noticed that her parent did not seem to be completely aware of his surroundings.

“Papa? Hey, are you alright?” she whispered. She touched his forearm gently, causing him to snap back to reality.

“Yes, starlet. This is just…”

“You don’t need to say it.” Astra leaned in and kissed her father on the cheek. “Thank you, for being so kind about this.”

“It’s not a matter of being kind, but one of being prepared… and I’m not sure if I will ever truly be prepared to watch one of my starlets vow themselves to another, no matter how much I approve of the match,” he explained. He glanced over her shoulder at his new son-in-law as he covertly stared at the silverware in an attempt to remember which ones to pick up first and not embarrass anyone. “He is a good lad who loves you, and he tries for your sake. That is all I can ever want for you or any of your siblings.”

“Well said,” the Marchioness agreed from her husband’s other side. She held his hand as he turned his head to look at her, an expression on his face that only she could read. It was one of immense pride and happiness, yet one of sadness, fear, and anxiety as well. She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles tenderly. “You’ve always had a way with words, Johan. Be careful, or else you might worry away your appetite.”

“…and how do you think it’ll look if the cook finds out that you didn’t eat and she comes all the way up to scold you?” Astra added with a giggle. The Marquis deigned to not respond, for he did not need reminding that their cook—a stout, headstrong woman hired back when her predecessor quit a week before _his_ coming-of-age ceremony—felt no qualms about approaching her employer when he did not eat in order to question his health and should she make him something else. It was not a problem normally since he knew her intentions were purely good-hearted, yet he also knew that there were some in the hall dining with them that would balk at the idea of a servant acting in such a manner, calling it impudence instead of worry.

“Besides, you don’t have it nearly as bad as Papa,” the Marchioness mentioned. She nodded towards her father sitting on the end of the table. “This is his _granddaughter’s_ wedding feast; there’s only a year between you two, but he’s not in as good shape because he’s average… it was a blessing he could make it at all.”

“That is true,” he admitted. His father-in-law had needed to arrive a week in advance in order to rest from the traveling, something which he would have never done ten years prior. He did not yet look feeble, though the knowledge that the man would possibly not be around for all his grandchildren’s marriages was on the forefront of more minds than just the Marquis and Marchioness’s. It was clear to the Gallifreyan lord that Lena, who sat by her grandfather’s side, was asking him stories about her grandmother, about her mother’s childhood, about Blackpoole in bygone days, simply by the expression on his face alone. Passing on knowledge was important, and he was glad that it was still a possibility.

The food came and dinner began. It was delicious, as was expected from their kitchen, and before long it was time to return to the governance hall. A few tables and chairs had been set up around the edges, with the center clear for dancing and an orchestra sitting expectantly along the side. The guests formed a makeshift circle around the open floor, enclosing Olivier and Astra as they prepared to begin dancing. Music swelled up and the couple twirled around the floor in sync; everyone watched in delight at the new husband and wife’s blushing ecstasy, enjoying themselves.

“It makes me so happy seeing our Astra’s face,” the Marchioness whispered in her husband’s ear.

“The sight reminds me of our first dance, and how neither of us smiled genuinely before, during, or after,” the Marquis murmured back. “You did not deserve that, not in the slightest.”

“I still found happiness though,” she reminded him. “Sometimes the best things happen to people completely on accident and they wouldn’t change that for anything.”

“We squandered those first years…”

“…not if they led to this moment, or any of the other moments we’ve had and will have. A lifetime with you is not a squandered one by any means.”

She held out her hand and he took it, the pair edging their way onto the dance floor. They were soon joined by the Baron and Baroness Coal-on-the-Hill, and Serdar Peladon and his sister, and before they knew it the hall was filled with dancers. Eventually the Marquis and Marchioness found themselves next to Olivier and Astra and they switched partners. Waltzing away with his daughter, the Marquis found it difficult to remain dry-eyed.

Yet it was alright, he told himself as he guided Astra along the dance floor. He did not mourn Tara’s first deployment and he would not mourn this marriage. The young woman in his arms was intelligent and wise beyond her years and was ready to leave the nest; it was merely something he had to accept.

* * *

The celebration continued into the night with little signs of letting up. Seren was able to get in a song on his cello while Maglina sang before they, Sterling, and Oriana were told to head upstairs to the family’s wing for the evening, while the newlyweds were able to sneak off towards the wedding suite before anyone else could notice. Guests socialized, danced, and frittered the night away without a care in the world—such a change from the quiet, bleak nights of the early days of the bride’s father’s tenure, that much was for certain.

Stepping out onto the balcony, Lena finally found herself able to breathe after escaping the overheated governance hall. With the party behind her, she glanced out over the gardens, observing couples who had decided to take a stroll in the early autumn night. The sky was red, the breeze was light, and it was the perfect setting for a romantic rendezvous… at least, so she thought. It was not as though she had a decent comparison from her own personal experience, but she could imagine well enough from stories both read and told.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Lena did not need to look to know it was Tara, coming out to join her. The younger sister leaned on the railing and gazed up at the stars. They could not have looked more different with Tara in her formal military suit and Lena in an elegant gown, though if one paid enough attention it was clear that they were sisters despite the fact one wore medals on her chest and the other on a sash.

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“Well,” Tara shrugged, “Astra’s married now. She’s your younger sister and my _twin_ —it’s a bit of an odd feeling when I think about it.”

“I suppose so, but we have time,” Lena reminded her. “Lady Martha says that it’s very possible for us to bear children much later than Mama did because of how long we’ll live. There’s no rush for us to marry.”

“Chances are I never will; don’t want to get tied down unnecessarily, especially since continuing a line is not in my job description. Astra will have her kids, I’ll spoil them rotten like any proper aunt should, and then hand them back before returning to wherever I need to report.”

“Aren’t you selfish? All the fun and none of the work?”

“Expect anything less?”

“You always exceed expectations.”

The sisters stood quietly and watched the people wandering around in the gardens below. They relished in the shared silence for as long as they could, simply glad to be there. It was only after a few moments, however, did Tara begin to chuckle.

“What…?” Lena wondered.

“Good thing it doesn’t take much to get her going, because Olly’s an _amateur_ ,” Tara smirked. She glanced over at the confused Lena and tapped at her temple. “Remember when I first laid with Petra back in my Academy days, and Astra knew about it despite the fact we were nowhere near the castle?”

“Oh _gods_ ,” Lena cringed in realization. “That’s sick.”

“That’s being hypertelepathic, constantly-linked identical twins, one of whom is figuring some things out for the first time—I’ll let her know in the morning.”

“You could let her know _now_.”

“…and then they’d be too nervous to actually enjoy tonight like they should. It’s nothing I haven’t experienced before. Actually, I’ve gotten up to worse…”

“…but what if her mind connects with anyone else’s?!”

“It won’t, trust me,” Tara assured. “Astra and I can keep in contact from here to the Cyberan front in an emergency, but even in this state she’s too well-controlled in her abilities to let her wedding night get the best of her.”

“You are the one doing damage control if you’re wrong,” Lena warned.

“Yeah, yeah; don’t worry.” Tara turned her attention towards the gardens, where a couple was starting to become rather invested in their kissing session. “They remind me: how much you want to bet that Sterling will start courting Ori compared to her courting him?”

“Ha; I’m expecting nothing but a spare sibling to marry off in a treaty. He’ll never work up the courage, not without some goading, because if he gathers himself on his own it’ll be too late. Something I know for certain is that I’m getting married before he is.”

“Can’t argue there.”

“Then what about Maggie or Seren?”

“Seren’s too young to tell since he’s still just a nip, but Maggie… she’ll have men fighting over her.”

“You think so?” Lena wondered, cocking an eyebrow.

“I’d be surprised if there wasn’t at least _one_ duel for the honor of courting her, and then she wouldn’t even allow the victor his spoils,” Tara snorted. “She just gets prettier every time I return home now that she’s hit puberty. Lucky for us she’s got a deceptively good head on her shoulders.”

“Yes, and I would like to keep it that way. You’ve reminded me that I want her to start looking into political theory and court proceedings. Those green eyes of Grandfather Troy’s, combined with Mama’s mind and Papa’s eyelashes, are going to be a force to be reckoned with one day.”

“Heh, yeah…” The soldier then grew quiet, reminiscing. “I remember when we got the letter saying she was born. Papa wasn’t… well, he wasn’t in a good state for a while.”

“I don’t blame him considering I wasn’t either. You know, I can still remember holding Maggie as Mama wrote that letter…” Lena stopped when she noticed her sister was beginning to giggle. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help it,” Tara laughed. “It’s just… _Olly_ …”

“ _Disgusting_ ,” Lena scoffed. She cringed as she walked away, leaving Tara to her unique and accidental voyeurism.

* * *

As it turned out, Tara was not wrong and the remainder of the night went without incident. Their father checked the wedding bed, as he was the highest-ranked guest at the ceremony and reception both, and he returned to his wife’s side with the sense of melancholy only the father of a new bride could exude. Olivier and Astra showed up for breakfast a short while later, faces flushed in embarrassment; their marriage was now complete in the eyes of traditions old and new alike.

Greeting guests who had stayed at the castle, the entire remainder of the day was a flurry of thank-yous and glad-you-could-make-its, with barely any time for the newlyweds to spend by themselves. That night they began packing and two days later it was time for them to head towards Rhylls with Alida and Antoine. Seren begged them not to go; the only way to placate him was an offer for a sleepover at Sladen House upon their return the following summer. He sniffled dramatically, hoping they would change their mind, yet watched with the rest of his family as the new branch of the family rode off towards the south.

Without looking, the Marchioness reached for her husband’s hand, only able to grab the finger with his wedding band. The Marquis closed his hand around hers in turn, both continuing to concentrate on waving the travel party goodbye.


	40. Tulips and Plumeria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted a bunch of fluff with a baby. There's still some angst and implied things, but mostly fluff and some kissing.

It was two months after the birth of his heir and the Marquis woke to find his wife was not in bed alongside him. Although it was still the red of night, he could hear sweet cooing filtering in from the open nursery door, and investigating the source allowed him to find the Marchioness, tending to their daughter.

“Oh, you’re up early,” she observed once she saw him. He stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin atop her head, while he too looked at Lena atop the changing table.

“I notice when you are not by my side,” he mentioned. The infant stared up at them with her large, grey eyes so much like his own and waved around her arms, croaking indignantly. “Yes, starlet; I notice when you are not around either. Papa notices many things that you do not yet.” He then paused, wrinkling his nose in thought. “Stars… is today court?”

“Yes, though we don’t have much scheduled unless there are some last-minute additions.”

“Then let us bring our daughter so that all of us may attend. One day it will be the three of us presiding, and the people need to be used to the idea.”

“Johan, she cannot even sit up on her own yet,” the Marchioness frowned. “It’s my turn to stay with her—I don’t mind.”

“I understand your concern, but I do mind you staying behind,” he replied. “Lena will know governance by instinct and see both her parents wield command side by side with little effort. She may end up commanding an impressive memory, which means that the sooner she can forge the memory.”

“She will not remember being two months old.”

“The youngest a Gallifreyan has been able to recall is six months—we do not know what abilities will manifest in her until they do so.”

“Will all of our children be able to do something peculiar like that?” she wondered. “I don’t need to be in the dark until a child I’ve borne starts levitating in front of Papa’s wife.”

“That is highly unlikely; the mental and physical capabilities necessary to levitate have not occurred in someone in over a thousand years,” he chuckled, kissing the top of her head. He released her from his embrace and lifted their child into his arms. “My bet is that she will be like her papa, long-lived and mildly telepathic via touch, and I have little doubt she has my mother’s skill for academics and learning, which is less a Gallifreyan trait and more a sign of brilliance.”

The Marchioness giggled at that, following her husband as he carried their daughter into their bedchamber. A bright pink was beginning to smear across the horizon to signal the impending dawn. “And it has nothing to do with her mother?”

“Her mother is truly one of the most brilliant beings I have ever encountered, yet sometimes it takes both sides to ensure a trait has been passed along to further generations,” the Marquis said solemnly. “You have the same fierceness Grandmamma Donata possessed from what I recall, and I am certain that the even-handed way in which you, your father, and I govern shall not vanish when the earth swallows our bodies.” He sat down next to the window and glanced out at the early stages of the summer morn, as he often did while his wife tended to her appearance. “The only thing I can hope is that she sees whatever gifts have been passed down as blessings rather than curses, whether that be her natural capabilities or the title she shall one day wield.”

“You worry too much,” she sighed. The Marchioness went into her wardrobe in order to pick out a dress for the day. “Lena is still a babe at my breast; save your concern for suitors and her first mandates. She will ride into battle before you know it, whether the enemies are foreign troops wishing to invade the marquisate and kingdom or southern politicians ignoring her people’s needs, and it is _then_ that you will need your strength.” Taking off her nightdress, she changed into a fresh dress of pale blue trimmed with crème, feeling the adoring gaze of her husband as he looked upon her body and its stubborn refusal to return to the precise size it was before. She met his eyes, giving him a knowing smile. “What?”

“Can a man not watch his wife anymore? Not only am I married to the most brilliant woman in the marquisate, but the most beautiful as well—let me take pride in that.” He blushed as she walked over and sat upon his lap, placing one arm around her waist as he kept the other holding their child. “Please stay at my side today so that we may govern together, for I hold little love for a world without you.”

“Stars forbid I visit my papa,” she chuckled, kissing his forehead. When she went to look at him, she saw that his gaze was now off to the side, silent tears dripping down into his whiskers. “This isn’t about me visiting Papa.”

“If I taste the bitter sting of widowhood again, I am not sure what I shall do,” he admitted. “Even if we are both white-haired and frail when it happens, with scores of children and grandchildren around for comfort and strength, the memory of you will hurt so much that I won’t be able to breathe.”

“Do not worry,” she insisted. She cradled his head in her arms, bringing his so close that his whiskers tickled the very tops of her breasts. “I know mortality has been on your mind the past few months more than usual, but that is no reason to be morbid.” His lips gently kissed her cold flesh and the corner of her mouth twitched up in a grin. “Are you sure you wish to get ready for the day? Lena is still sleepy and the dawn not yet upon us—we can find ways to celebrate life instead of fretting over death and uncertainties.”

Tender kisses found her collarbone, throat, and eventually her chin, where their eyes met and she instantly saw the hunger in them underneath his lashes. “Let me put her down,” he murmured. She stood and allowed him to return their daughter to the nursery, watching at the doorframe. The Marquis placed Lena gently in her cot, resting his hand on her head for a moment before turning towards the Marchioness and quickly eliminating the distance between them. He lifted her into the air and carried her towards the bed, starving for what they had gone without since the last of winter melted away and yielded to the spring. They were both eager to end their self-imposed fast, and amazed themselves when they were able to take the Marchioness’s dress off her without so much as a popped seam.

By the time the servants knocked on the door to wake their liege lord and lady, the couple were already dressed and fully prepared for the day before them as though nothing exciting had happened at all.

* * *

Stifling a yawn, the Marchioness glanced out over the governance hall in innate boredom. She was exhausted in many ways, the most intense being from staying up with the baby now sitting in the Marquis’s arms. She had already known that the court session was not going to be a very intriguing one—they rarely were—though it was her duty and responsibility to make sure that she at least did not yawn large and insult the speaker of the moment.

“Please: is there anything you wish to say concerning the proposal at-hand?” the Marquis asked dully. The man who had the floor was talking about all manner of things, using the discussion section of the proposal to go on several tangents at once.

“I swear, milord, that they are all interconnected,” the man claimed. He paused for a moment, staring at the dais in front of him, genuine concern spread across his face. “Since we are on a sidebar, may I inquire something completely off-topic, milord?”

“You may.”

“Are you and Her Ladyship interviewing candidates for nurse and governess and have yet to make a decision? I only ask out of curiosity and nothing else.”

“I am glad for your concern,” the Marchioness began, “but I can assure you that we are going to raise our heir so that she may learn governance at an early age. My lord husband and I have discussed this at length and we would rather have a twelve-year-old child who knows protocol for running her parents’ estate than one who cannot tell if an advisor is steering them in the wrong direction. Stars in the sky forbid she ever has to take hold of the marquisate at twelve, but we do not know these things in advance.”

“Then I hope I often see the Young Mistress Lena at your side in court for many years to come,” he replied before turning back to his convoluted complaint. The Marchioness felt her husband’s hand rest on hers, him gently easing into her mind.

‘ _It will never stop_ ,’ he projected into her mind. ‘ _Even once she is of-age, people will question why we do not use a governess for her._ ’

‘ _When she becomes of-age, she will likely have younger siblings who have been raised exactly the same as her, and their lack of governess will also be questioned_ ,’ she replied. ‘ _My mother raised me personally and I am all the better for it, and even Papa tended to me at a young age so that I may know how to govern in his stead—Lena being cared for away from us would only hurt her_.’

‘ _Remembering how much I missed my mother after she disappeared, I can agree_ ,’ he assured. It was then that Lena began to squirm anxiously, diverting her father’s attention away. He passed her gently towards his wife, fingers brushing up against hers again to communicate silently. ‘ _Our daughter is thinking of your breast; she is hungry_.’

‘ _At least she thinks out of need and not of want like her father_ ,’ she teased. ‘ _Don’t tell me you aren’t counting down the days to when she can be weaned; you’re a terrible liar._ ’ The Marchioness then did what she had already done twice during court and fed her daughter under the cover of a blanket, no different than a couple of the women in the audience with their infant children.

She uncovered Lena when she was done, looking down into the girl’s large, thankful, sleepy eyes. Her child’s mind emitted a satisfied feeling before falling asleep, leaving her mother little to do but pay attention to court. The man from before had stepped down from the speaker’s podium and a new, more on-topic, person was talking about a point concerning the livestock proposal absolutely made moot by research already explained. The Marchioness sighed quietly, so that only her husband could hear her exasperation, and settled in for the hour left until they recessed for lunch. He picked up her hand in solidarity, for the act of actually governing was one best done together.

* * *

Most of those attending court thanked the stars and gods that lunch recess finally came. The Marquis hesitated little when it came to escorting his wife and daughter out of the governance hall and towards their private wing. They ate quickly, though the Marchioness insisted that she stay behind when it was time to return to work.

“Feeding Lena is still tiresome,” she explained. “Unless someone gives an extremely good reason as to why we cannot import western alpacas for any of their uses, let the proposal pass. If you need me, I will be with Lena.”

“If it means that you will not be tired as much, you are correct in that I can barely wait until Lena is weaned,” he chuckled. He kissed his wife at the door, lingering selfishly before leaving to resume court and allow his young family time away from the monotony of court life.

When mother and daughter entered their chambers, they were greeted by red and purple tulips, framed in their vases by sprigs of elderflowers. Their presence explained the note the Marquis had written in the middle of court to hand to a messenger, as now the paper’s contents were clear. The Marchioness brought her daughter close to one of the vases, taking the infant’s small hand and bringing it to a tulip petal.

“This is what happens when Papa is allowed any amount of flowers, no matter the season,” she explained. “I used to only see these in the Spring, but now I even see these in the Autumn months. Do you know why?”

The baby gurgled in reply, something that made her mother chuckle. “…because _this_ is our extravagance. We will raise you at our sides, which shall make us odd amongst our peers, yet we have guaranteed good food and clothes, blooms that are not in-season, and musicians arguably better than those who regularly play for His Majesty. This is how we enjoy our position in society, for there are many things about it that your father and I both despise.”

Lena made a guttural noise and sneezed, prompting her mother to bring her away from the flowers, taking her to the nursery instead. White plumeria blossoms met them there, which amused the Marchioness greatly.

“These will smell much better at night when you are going to sleep,” she told Lena. She brought the girl over to where a blanket was laid out on the rug and put her down, using her now-free hands to grab a stuffed toy and tap its nose with her daughter’s. “One day you will understand why we do things the way we insist instead of the way others insist, but that is alright.” Lena giggled, which was the most beautiful thing her mother had ever heard, causing tears to well in her eyes.

“That is why, and I hope it takes before you have a child of your own to understand.”


	41. The Job Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following is going to be a purely Lena-centric chapter, because plot. Marquis and Marchioness stuff should come soon.
> 
> Lena is 25 in this particular chapter, her acquaintance Alfred (from chapter thirteen) is ~35 and a new character(!) is 22. There is also a note at the end about said new character.

Lady Marchioness Lena Anthea of Kasterborous and Gallifrey hoisted herself up into her saddle, trying not to glare at her fellow hunters. She knew full-well that the invitation she had been sent to the early autumn hunting party was one that had been made in jest; however, had she declined she knew that there could have been unwelcome repercussions concerning the amount of trade done between Gallifrey and Malebolgia. It was one of the few treaties made by the Eighth Doctor during his short time at the helm of the marquisate, and she was not going to let it crumble to ashes at the expense of her pride. A familiar face made his horse walk up next to her, causing her to roll her eyes in apathy.

"What do you want, _Baron Chatham_?" she grumbled. Alfred snickered in reply.

"I'm on your side, so the least you can do is call me by my first name," he said. "You don't look pleased—do they have hunting parties in Kasterborous, or was your father simply not fond of them?"

"My father always found better use for his time, as do I," Lena deadpanned. "You know me and how much I love these pissing contests."

"It could be worse: you could be stuck inside with the wives, and I know how much you love them," Alfred teased. Lena scrunched her nose, for it was true that she'd rather be out there than in the house. On a hunt she could conveniently lose the trail, or simply not talk to anyone due to the chase, but inside the castle there were only so many places she could go and so few personalities worth communicating with—over half of them being on staff and therefore too terrified to look her in the eyes—meaning she would rather risk the hunt.

Eventually the horn sounded and the hounds began barking wildly as the hunt began. The hunters sped off, dogs at their horses' hooves, and Lena at least took solace in the ride. She tried to ignore the other participants, the sounds of their rifles and the dogs taking down crippled deer making her intensely uncomfortable. At one point, she nearly thought she heard the sound of a Cyberan, but it was only a lesser lord clumsily falling from his mount.

As the hunt slowed, Lena went and pulled to the side, watching the remainder of the participants ride off. A few dead sambur deer lay motionless nearby, making her slightly nauseous as she caught a faint whiff of seared fur and flesh from the phaser wounds. It was then that Alfred approached her again, his face nearly smug in his amusement.

"Are you sure this isn't your cup of tea?" he asked. "You ride better than most of the people here, nearly like you were a cavalrywoman's daughter born in the saddle."

"I'm sure," she said. She backed up her horse so that the cart carrying the day's kill could pass and pick up the nearby deer. An auburn-haired man with broad shoulders and the build of a mountain-mover, who had been walking his own horse next to the cart, stopped along with it and secured the reins to a low tree branch; he caught her attention due to his fine clothes, being far too well-dressed to be a servant.

"Who is that?" she wondered, keeping her voice low and leaning slightly towards the baron. "That doesn't look like a member of the earl's staff and I don't think I caught sight of him earlier." Alfred quirked an eyebrow.

"Him? I wouldn't really bother," he said. "He's actually Baronet Althos's youngest boy, though you wouldn't be able to tell by looking at him. His father and neither of his brothers could come so they sent him instead; a poor shot and an even worse rider, so he volunteered for cleanup before you even arrived yesterday. How the Earl of Malebolgia doesn't consider that a slight is beyond me."

"Well at least they sent _someone_ , and one who knows his limits," she replied. She carefully tried to watch him without watching, observing as he slung the sambur deer carcass into the back of the cart with ease. "He is strong, isn't he?"

"They brag about fighting bears in Althos since the southern mountains are full of them," Alfred scoffed. "Though looking at that display, I think he'd have a good chance of fighting one in a carnival show."

"Aren't you the epitome of politeness?" Lena frowned. She urged her horse forward and had it stop alongside the man as he continued loading the cart. "Hello there." The man looked up and smiled broadly, only half out of exhaustion.

"Oh, hello there Lady Kasterborous," he said. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"You know who I am? Aren't you sharp," she smirked.

"Not at all," he replied. "You're the only woman here; all the others are back at the house having a garden party or something like that. They're all wives and you've never been one for wifely things."

"…and how would you know that?"

"My brothers have been at your mercy before," he said simply as he threw the last deer carcass into the cart. "One is older than you by some years and one is of your age… though the way they talk make it sound like you're some sort of frigid witch out of a dark faerie story."

Lena watched him closely as he bent down to pet one of the hunting dogs, the animal having come up and started jumping around him in the meantime. Despite his overly-large size and the heavy-handed way he had been handling the game only moments before, he seemed very careful and gentle with the dog.

"What am I?" she asked abruptly.

He looked up. "Pardon?"

"If I'm not a frigid faerie witch, then what am I?" she repeated. "You made it sound like you don't believe your brothers' stories."

"You're a woman," he said. "Your father chose you to rule, and that's why you're here. That makes you one of the most honest people in this party." He sniffled and wiped his nose along his forearm, mud from his coat dirtying his beard. "Do we even want to count how many are here because their elder siblings were all girls, or interesting accidents happened over the years? You are the eldest, yeah? I hope for your sake none of your siblings thirst for power."

"Luckily, mine know that if they want power, all they need to do is ask," Lena said. "What about you? I was told you're the youngest son. Do they often make you do grunt work?"

"We wrestle bears in the Althosian Mountains," he grinned. "I like the work… and it will probably be my livelihood one day."

"That's… it doesn't have to be."

"Of course it does. You said it yourself: I'm the youngest son. It's times like these, sleeping in grand houses and talking to fine ladies, that I have to take advantage of now, because they won't always be there for me." He untied his stock horse and hoisted himself up. In the saddle he was even taller than before, ultimately towering over her even though they were sitting on horses of the nearly same height. He held out a large, meaty hand towards her. "My name is Grant, milady."

"…and I insist you call me Lena," she said, taking his hand and shaking it. His grip was strong and completely enveloped her own, yet did not threaten to crush her in any way. "You'll have to tell me more about your Althos and the bears there—I only have foreign hostiles to wrestle with."

"Then write down your war stories because I generally enjoy something in return," he said. With that he began to ride towards the castle alongside the cart, unaware that Lena was watching him. She felt something twist deep in her gut, foreign and odd, and she knit her brow in confusion.

"I never took you for one who pursued mediocrity," Alfred teased, urging his horse up next to Lena.

"A baronet's son isn't exactly smallfolk, and pursuing a friendly ear should be on everyone's priority list when far away from home," she replied sourly.

"You have your lord father's complexion; you're blushing."

"Sod off."

Alfred simply rode away in amusement; knowing it was better than egging her on further.

* * *

After a long bath and squeezing into a corset that was unexpectedly tight, Lena made her way back towards the party. The earl's estates were not only expansive in landholdings, but the mansion in which he and his family lived was large enough to accommodate the multitude of guests that were milling about, which made things excellent for her admittedly selfish purpose of avoiding others. With everyone already talking with their preferred company, it made it so that she could covertly wander about with a drink until she encountered the also-cleaned-up Grant. Being that he was one of the tallest people in the room, it was easy to spot him in the crowd.

"Ah, fancy meeting you here," she said, suppressing a grin as she approached. Thank the stars he was alone.

"You sound almost excited to see me."

"Friendly company is always exciting when you're invited to social events out of pity and mockery."

"I wouldn't say that," he replied. He took a drink from a passing footman and gave the man a nod before turning back to Lena. "If I hear correctly, then I'd say out of fear." She nearly choked on her own drink, laughing at his flat delivery.

"Fear would be better," she said once she cleared her throat. "It would make going about certain negotiations easier, knowing what I'm dealing with. That's a simpler emotion to control in most situations I find myself in anyhow."

"And here I thought you were the sort of person to love a challenge."

"Selectively; I was taught to choose wisely." Lena caught sight of an open settee next to a window and jumped on the opportunity. "Would you like it sit? I'm sure that even if you wrestle bears, the work you were doing earlier was tiring."

"Yes, please," Grant replied. They sat down, turned so that they could both face one another and glance out the window at the same time. "You know, everybody from Althos jokes about bear wrestling, but it is actually something we take great pride in. It's the local sport, and I am honestly good at it."

"That seems like an odd thing to have as sport," she wondered. "Is there a cultural significance?"

"Yes: back when the mountains were being settled, the place was crawling with bears that attacked people more frequently than elsewhere in the kingdom. The larger, stronger men ended up fighting them and when we finally made our niche in the land and the bears got used to us, we kept it up as a tradition to remind us of those days." He took a drink of his wine and shrugged. "A man that can properly wrestle a bear can make a name for himself in Althos—a name for his family—so I'm not too worried for my future."

Lena thought about this for a moment and raised an eyebrow contemplatively. "Is that what you really want?"

"It's what I can achieve with what I've been given," he said. "My eldest brother gets our father's title, my other brother has a position within his court, and I'm to scrap about for what I can. That's a common thing when a titled man has many sons."

"But with a nobleman's education you could do much more for yourself, surely," she reasoned. "You're young yet—don't you want to study or soldier or become a politician or aim for a serdarship by other means? With your stature, my bet is you could intimidate just about any belligerent in court with a glance alone."

"I want to do well by my family, and the traditional sport would bring honor to my parents and brothers. Once that's under my belt, I can focus on doing something more productive." Grant's gaze turned far-off and thoughtful, making his conversation partner curious. "A wife, children, maybe a home on the side of a mountain where all I can see are green valleys and snowy peaks—you know, the kind of quiet that's punctuated by bickering in-laws and long days of estate managing, even if that means falling into a stewardship. I don't need much."

"…but is it what you deserve?" Lena asked slyly. She grinned mischievously as he blinked at her. "The world gives us little to work with, but that doesn't mean we have to do little with our lives. Is growing old in a mountain hut _really_ what you want?"

"What I want is to be useful, and there are not many ways in which a baronet's third son is useful."

"Did you know that I have two brothers of my own? Younger brothers, ones that serdars and other advisors have suggested take my place when it comes to inheriting our father's title and lands." She watched as he leaned in slightly to listen. "Men give me little opportunity to command my birthright simply because of my siblings and where I lie in the order of things, to the point where if my life were a novel it would have become rather boring rather quickly. Each day I prove them wrong by being a strong and capable leader while one brother is floundering in what will be a short-lived military career and the other is barely out of the nursery, readying himself to inherit our maternal grandfather's holdings since he is furthest from the governance chair in the march. Who is anyone to tell you that you must wrestle bears in order to make something of yourself, simply because you were born last of your brothers?"

Grant studied Lena's face and attempted to gauge the seriousness of her words. She seemed sincere enough and her words were inspiring ones. "Yes, but your parents encourage you to rule; mine encourage me to wrestle wild animals with my bare hands. It's different in Althos than in Gallifrey."

"Then maybe Althos isn't where you belong," she replied plainly. She took a sip of her wine and arched her eyebrows, signaling that someone was about to intrude. Sure enough, they were joined not a moment later by the young Viscount of Grey. He sat down on the chair that was near Lena's end of the settee and smirked.

"So, how did you enjoy the hunt?" he asked. "It is not often we see the famed Marchioness of Kasterborous and Gallifrey amongst our numbers—one could almost assume that you don't like any of us."

"It is more that hunting is far from being my preferred pastime; venison is a palatable dish, but I'd rather have a professional huntsman make the kill," she replied flatly, not letting the viscount's near-mocking tone affect her. "I am used to soldiering, which is exactly the opposite of hunting." She sipped at her drink and attempted to control her eyes from rolling. "Have you ever been on a battlefield, Lord Grey?"

"I served in the King's Guard during the rebel skirmish we had a couple years back," he said. "That was dreadful."

"I pity those poor farmers—they were pushed to the edge by people who failed to listen to them, let alone ever truly take their words into consideration," Lena replied. "The fact the uprising claimed so few lives is a miracle."

The viscount raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Few? There were over a dozen deaths on both sides."

"Then let me tell you a secret," she countered. "I don't care for sport-killing because I was nearly sport myself. Perfectly decent, vibrant soldiers have gone down before my eyes, and because of that, I don't take the concept of hunting lightly."

"We eat what we catch, not to mention feed some of the locals," the viscount frowned.

"That may be true, but you also don't eat an eight-year-old child," Lena quipped. "I've been helping my fellow Kasterborsians keep the march, and therefore the _kingdom_ , safe for seventeen years. I know what it is to be hunted, so I have to say that my sympathies are more with our dinner than they are with the party members."

Thinking better of himself, the viscount politely found an excuse and left the conversation. Grant then stared at Lena, unsure of what to say.

"Was that true?" he finally asked.

"Unfortunately," she sighed. She took another large drink of her malt and leaned into the back of the settee, letting her gaze wander out the window on what was becoming a dreary sky. "I'm sorry about that—every so often someone tries to pick me apart and ruffle my feathers. Like I said earlier: the sort of things that I get from others became old hat incredibly fast."

"What were you doing on the battlefield at the age of eight?" he wondered, genuinely curious. He kept his voice quiet, so as to not attract attention. "I don't doubt you were there… but I have a difficult time thinking it."

"It was supposed to be a routine visit, the last before my youngest sister was born," she explained. "My parents made the trip plenty of times before, so Mama and I didn't think much of it, yet it ended up being that my sister was birthed in the medical tent while I made sure a Sontarian didn't get through the entrance flaps." She looked him dead in the eyes, knowing he believed her. "It was my first battle."

"I'm sorry," Grant said.

"Don't apologize; it's nothing you can control," she replied. Lena gave his hand a quick pat—nothing that could be misconstrued—and offered an assuring smile. "My sister is nearly of presentation age and Mama came out healthy enough to still birth my youngest brother. I had to face an enemy soldier at some point, and doing so while young helped to reinforce how real the danger becomes."

"That's a very brave way to look at things," he said uncomfortably. He took the hand that was still resting atop his and held it for a moment before furrowing his brow in thought. "You work with your hands as well."

"Swords and marksmanship practice once a week—thrice when a certain sister is home from the front—and I likely write a few thousand words on a normal day," she replied. She took her hand back and caught herself before smiling too broadly; the emotions he was broadcasting were so clear that she nearly did not need her Gallifreyan gift to catch them. A thought came to her mind, so striking that it caused her to pause long enough to cause Grant worry.

"Lena…? Are you alright?"

"Yes," she said, quickly snapping from her thoughts. "You know how work follows you no matter how far you go—I was thinking about a couple court positions back home that need filling." She chuckled, knowing she had his attention. "Do you think you'd want first crack at an interview?"

"A job interview? Me? Are you sure that no one would have any objections to a southern mountain man wandering around Gallifrey?"

"You would provide a fresh perspective—my brother-in-law is from Rhylls and he brings a uniqueness to the table that very few in my court are able to provide naturally. To have the advice of two southern men, one baseborn and the other highborn, within the walls of Castle Gallifrey would be truly advantageous when it comes to the national perspective, as well as keeping local matters from becoming too insular in nature."

"I'm touched, but…"

"…but..?"

"But if my father finds out that I am interviewing with _you_ …"

"There are a few others here from Kasterborous—simply say you are interviewing with a Kasterborsian and make it sound like it will get you out of his hair," she said. "How long does it take to get to Althos from here?"

"Two weeks."

"Then how does a month and a half sound? That gives you time to return home, rest, and then make the trip to Kasterborous in your own time."

Grant considered that, then frowned. "That is too close to the start of winter, isn't it? If I'm not trapped in Kasterborous, then I will be buried as I navigate the passes in the Althosians."

"Stay the winter—if anything, it will be a change of scenery, and it gives you time to contemplate your options."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. Now, tell me about this bear-wrestling business and how it impacts the local Althosian economy…"

* * *

That night, Lena and Grant remained side-by-side for most of the time that was not spent being shuffled around from place to place and made to sit next to others for socializing. They parted that night as friends, with the marchioness leaving early the following morning after a well-timed letter from the front that demanded her personal attention to some invented emergency. With Malebolgia far behind her, she allowed herself the faintest of smiles as she rode off towards her homelands.

They really did breed them differently in the southern parts of the kingdom… that much was for certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe that I've had Grant's name picked out for what, at this point, is nearly years? He genuinely has nothing to do with the Grant in The Return of Doctor Mysterio except for coincidentally sharing the same first name. Grant Gordon does exist in this 'verse, though I am still figuring out in what capacity.


	42. Jarlshall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write other things, but this chapter kept nagging me, so here we are.
> 
> Johan and Clara are roughly 79 and 60, respectively. Lena also features at 29.

“Mama, Papa, what were you planning on doing for your anniversary?”

The question sideswiped Lord Johan and Lady Clara as they sat having tea with their eldest daughter. Everyone else was off doing other things, which left the three of them alone.

“We weren’t planning on doing much, starlet,” Lord Johan replied. “All we wish for these days is a quiet life, caring for the grandstarlets we have now and preparing for ones who will come in the future.”

“Yes, and as much as we appreciate you watching over the children, I’ve discussed it with everyone else and it’s fairly unanimous that we think you should take a holiday for yourselves,” Lena said calmly. Soon as her father opened his mouth to protest, she raised her hand to silence him. “I have already made the necessary arrangements; you are to arrive at Jarlshall in a fortnight and remain there for a month in order to relax and enjoy being schedule-free. It will be good for you both to get away from Gallifrey and the commotion she causes, taking a holiday alone.”

“Starlet, I’m _not_ going to Jarlshall,” her father frowned.

“Yes, you are.”

“Lena, listen to your father,” Lady Clara scolded gently. “If he doesn’t want to go, then…”

“He has been a stubborn old man about it for far too long, Mama,” she replied. “All the rest of us have slept there in the recent years, and at this point he has little to fear by returning there. You will be by his side and it will do the staff and surrounding villagers good to see the both of you together.”

A silence settled over the library that was heavy with ire and contempt. Father and daughter were in a gridlock, neither willing to budge on the matter, whilst the former marchioness…

“You two are being silly,” she snapped. She turned towards her daughter and gave her a disapproving glare. “Lena, you ever try to do something like this again and I don’t care that you are Marchioness and Doctor in your own right, for I will turn you over on my knee and no one will stop me, even _you_.” She then turned towards her husband, face set resolutely. “Johan, our daughter went through a lot of trouble to put this together, so we’re going and that’s final.”

“ _Mama_ …!”

“ _Clara_ …!”

“No arguments out of either of you,” she said firmly, cutting them both off. “You want to know what the problem is? Both of you are _exactly the same_ , and if someone is not around to keep the two of you in line, there is no peace in this castle. Stars forbid, it might actually take me _dying_ for this nonsense to cease… and even _then_ I’m not entirely certain.”

Her husband and daughter both sat quietly, guiltily, their stormy eyes all downcast and introspective. They knew she was correct—very few knew them as she and fewer yet would call them out on it. Tears glassed over both their eyes as they attempted to not shed them in their guilt. After she felt enough time had passed, the former marchioness took another biscuit and poured herself some tea.

“Now Lena, did you have any other plans that we need to know about, or is this the only one?”

* * *

The following week, Lord Johan and Lady Lena began to pack and made the necessary arrangements before heading off to their quiet holiday in the country. After a dinner surrounded by family on their anniversary proper, they bid their children and grandchildren farewell for the time being and were helped into the carriage that was to take them to the family’s official retreat of Jarlshall, a mansion settled in lands composed of idyllic pastures and gorgeous woods. Although the ride was smooth and relatively short, it seemed as though they had traveled thousands of miles as they approached the grand house, made of the same blue stone as Castle Gallifrey.

“Our daughter is pitching a fit,” Lord Johan scowled as he stared out the window. It was countryside he hadn’t seen in years, yet it was all familiar as though he frequented the area often. His wife took one of his knobby hands in both of hers and kissed his knuckles.

“She’s not the only one,” she mentioned. Lady Clara leaned against her husband’s arm and sighed contently. “Our Lena is truly her papa in skirts, though I’m not sure who is being sillier.”

“I have had no need for Jarlshall in decades,” he sulked.

“Sixty years is a long time to be away from a place you used to love,” she reminded him. They passed through the front gate of the property and began the ride along the long, tree-lined drive. “I am always fond of the trees here in the springtime—not the ones we have in the gardens in Gallifrey, that is for certain, but they are still gorgeous.”

He did not answer, instead keeping quiet as they watched the scenery pass them by. Eventually the view opened onto a hilly pasture, a grand estate seated upon the highest point. The carriage brought them all the way to the front door, where the entire staff had come outside to greet their employers, every one seemingly overjoyed to see them.

“Johan, it is so good to see you again,” the grey-haired butler grinned as he opened the door and assisted his lord out. “Do you remember me?”

It took him a moment, but as the butler was assisting Lady Clara from the carriage, Lord Johan remembered. “Toberman… we used to play together as children… your mother was a maid here in the house, and when you were old enough you worked here yourself… oh, my old friend...” He then shook the butler’s hand, tears at the corners of his eyes. “Look at what time has done to us.”

“You last saw me as a footman, milord—now I keep this home for you and your family while you are away.”

“…and I’ve been away for far too long.”

“See?” Lady Clara smirked. “This _was_ the right decision.” She gently held her husband’s elbow and pulled him along. “Come on… let us see how time has passed elsewhere.”

Guiding him slowly, she brought him over the threshold of the house. The staff watched with bated breath as he walked into the foyer, glancing around. Their lord turned towards them and opened his arms wide, a grin on his face.

“I’ve returned.”

The older staff cheered, the younger staff laughed, and Lady felt a weight lift from her chest.

‘ _Lena, you impossible child_ ,’ she thought. ‘ _Thank you_.’

* * *

As the days went by, Lord Johan and Lady Clara adjusted to their holiday as best they could. Every so often, they would come across something that would remind him of days gone by and his grip on her would tighten slightly. Since little had been done to the décor in the decades that had passed—anything major would have involved his permission, or that of Clara or Lena, both of whom were not affected by the relics and artwork that adorned the mansion—there were many stories that now accompanied the things that she merely appreciated for what they were on the surface. She heard stories of his parents, grandparents, old friends, and even his old love. He went through the tales carefully, occasionally recalling with great difficulty, doing his best to remember his forebears respectfully. It was a side that his wife had not seen in a long while, and she adored it.

A few days into their stay at Jarlshall, the lord and lady were taking tea out on the veranda when the head-of-house approached them nervously, visibly unsure of her decision to be there.

“Milord? Milady? May I please discuss something with you both inside?” she requested.

“Whatever it is, we can discuss it here,” Lady Clara assured her. She took a closer look at the servant’s face and her heart skipped a beat. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter—I simply have a private matter to discuss.”

Respecting her discretion, the couple followed the head-of-house back inside and into the drawing room. She closed the door behind them and took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation ahead.

“What is wrong?” Lord Johan asked. He knew the woman was in her early sixties, yet she was acting more sixteen than anything. For him to notice, it had to of been terrible. “You look ready to faint.” The head-of-house simply pulled an envelope out of her dress pocket, eyes downcast.

“I know this isn’t mine to give, and I wondered what good it would do to even hand it over, but…” She held out the envelope towards him; it was wrinkled slightly and yellowed with age, though the cracking seal remained untouched.

“What is this…?” he wondered. He took the envelope from her and went quiet, recognizing the hand that had emblazoned his name on the front.

“I apologize, milord, but this was left with the previous head-of-house by Her Former Ladyship Melody with explicit instructions to give it to you upon her death. Since no one knew of your departure until it was too late and as it was to be given within the grounds of Jarlshall specifically…”

“No, that is alright,” Lady Clara answered for her husband. She held his arm, making sure he knew she was there. “You did well by her memory; do not be ashamed of that.”

“Thank you, milady.” The head-of-house frowned apprehensively, unsure of what her actions had done. “Still, I apologize, milady, for rehashing something so old and intrusive. You were still my beloved marchioness, my trusted Doctor, and I am proud to say that _your_ daughter is now those things in your retirement.”

“We must respect the dead’s wishes, whenever they can be done without harm to the living,” Lady Clara replied. “Her Former Ladyship and I are in no competition, and it would be rude and selfish to pretend I have been the only love in my husband’s long life. Please wait outside for a moment.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She curtsied and left the room. Lady Clara then led her husband over towards a chair, having him sit without much fuss. He was still in shock and was easily movable even for her small frame.

“I think this is a thing between husband and wife,” she said kindly. She kissed him on the forehead and followed the head-of-house out into the corridor, giving him privacy. Lord Johan watched her leave, sliding his fingers underneath the envelope flap once the door was shut and he no longer heard voices or footsteps. The seal broke and he slid the papers inside out, opening the sixty-year-old letter carefully.

“ _My dearest Johan_ ,” it read, elegant script flowing effortlessly over the paper. “ _If you are reading this, then I have likely returned to the earth and you have returned to my deathbed. I fully intend to burn this soon as I have the energy to put it in the hearth myself, but the midwife heavily suggested I write this despite my intentions and determination. No woman knows if the birthing bed will be the last one they shall ever lay in, and it is good for the spirit to go with parting words already written. Ha—I have little doubt you will hold your wife and child both in your arms, a proud husband and papa. The midwife is convinced it will be a Johan, yet her assistant says a Johanna. Will he have your eyes? Will she have your smile? Hair red and curly, or blonde and unruly, or brown and straight? The Pond temper? The Williams nose? The Song smirk? Your lord father’s chin? Our poor child is already cursed_.”

He chuckled weakly at that, remembering how distraught Melody was over the traits their child was to inherit in the final months. All he knew was that their child was beautiful as all the stars in the sky until its final breath and that was all.

“ _Still, if you are genuinely reading this because I am dead, then pay attention to my words. Mourn me until your dying day for all I care, but do not let my death be the end of your life. Find our child a stepmother who will treat them like her own, give them siblings, hold grandchildren—stars, with the way your people are, you should be able to hold **their** grandchildren. Become the marquis you were born to be; you may be my idiot, but I believe that Earl Johan Lonan of Gallifrey and the Northern Lands will be one of the greatest Doctors one day. Kasterborous should know you as a paragon, utilizing the best of all her rulers before you, not a tired pause between eras of greatness._

“ _Though, now that I think of it… maybe you lost us both. If so, please marry again one day and continue the line despite what just transpired. Life will go on after us, and the only way to mourn responsibly is to ensure that the hands that lay you in the earth are ones you trained to the best of everyone’s ability. Kasterborous and Gallifrey need their Doctor, and that man is **you**. Take care to remember that wolves are uncontrollable and roses have thorns. Stay strong and you will do the right thing in the end, even if it doesn’t feel like it._

“ _With all my love, yours,_

“ _Melody Williams-Pond, Earlessa of Gallifrey_.”

Lord Johan let himself go as he put down the letter, breaking into a full sob. Of all the difficult things he expected to face upon his return to Jarlshall, his childhood love’s final words were not one of them. He cried and cried until he felt he could cry no more, sitting there with his face in his hands. A light touch to his shoulder alerted him to someone’s presence—Clara. She saw his red face and puffy eyes and her heart shattered for him. After wiping his face clean of tears and mucus with her kerchief, she sat down in his lap, gently placing her arms around his shoulders.

“I came to check on you and I’m glad I did,” she explained. She stroked his fluffy curls, noting how they were losing their grey and slowly becoming snowy white, and kissed his cheek. “Was it really that bad?”

“It was a letter written in case she met the fate that she did, that she didn’t believe she would let me read except as a farce,” he replied. “If I had only known…”

“You did not know though.”

“I should have.”

“Stop beating yourself up over it,” she frowned. “You have been married to me for an entire decade longer than you were in mourning blacks—you did what she wanted anyhow.”

His eyes went wide as he stared at her in disbelief. “How…?”

“…because she would have wanted you to continue on, be strong, and not let her death lead to yours.” She put a hand on his cheek, caressing him gently. “I wrote a similar letter, but I was able to burn mine.”

“You… you did…?”

“Yes, with each birth I wrote one, and they remained hidden until after a week had passed. Our daughters even wrote them with the same intentions and results.”

“I did not know this was a custom amongst mothers-to-be.”

“It is, but usually it is only those who write and receive ever really know for certain,” she explained. “As marvelous as Kasterborsian physicians are, some things cannot be helped, and although it is tragic, it is also a learning experience for all those involved.”

Lord Johan quietly stared at the papers in his hands again, frowning at the words written half in jest. “It was tragic, and I miss them both more than I can say, but it did lead to something beautiful, that I would never give up for both my hearts’ sake.”

“There’s the moon in my sky,” Lady Clara crooned.

“Full and bright, you are for always the moon in mine,” he replied. He placed the letter on the side-table and held her close, kissing her cheeks and forehead and lips. “The past thirty-five years by your side have only brought me joy after joy in such numbers that I feel eternally blessed by the gods and stars alike. I did nothing to deserve you, our children, our grandchildren, the life we’ve shared together. Even when I was at my most ridiculous, your love has never wavered, and it has, in turn, humbled me beyond compare.”

“If I remember correctly, thirty-five years ago, you gave a young woman an acceptable escape from scandal and societal restrictions, setting her free with an act that many see as their doom,” she chuckled. “You are my darling husband, my doting paramour, the dashing steed that fathered my children, and by the time we realized what had happened, it was too late to turn back. I wouldn’t trade you for any man, living or dead.”

“I was foolish, thinking that my moon had set all those years ago—now I know it was merely a tower light that was snuffed out against a clouded sky. It took a long time for the clouds to part and for me to realize the flame had not merely been renewed, but that it was truly the moon, and I have not been lost since that very moment.” He held her close, breathing in her scent and wanting to never let go. “It was the right thing to read that letter, and there is no one else I’d rather have by my side as I read it than you.”

They then kissed, languid and loving, holding one another tenderly as they could manage. There was nothing that would make their devotion waver, not even a reminder of loves long lost. It was a love that would last them until they were laid together in the earth and that was the most certain thing.

* * *

That night, Lord Johan and Lady Clara laid together properly for the first time since walking over the threshold of Jarlshall. He came abruptly, yet made up for it with deft fingers and a hushed ballad in the ceremonial tongue. One thing they knew, as they went to sleep in one another’s arms, was that they were truly meant to be together, no matter what had happened in the past, was happening that moment, or would happen in the future.

It was only later, when all were asleep and down for the night, did anything odd transpire. A young woman clad in white walked through the corridors of the mansion, finding her way to Lord Johan and Lady Clara’s room. She watched them silently, their forms still with sleep, and smiled knowingly at the couple. Holding back her long red hair, she kissed the lord on the brow, whispering his name reverently.

“ _Johan_.”

He jolted awake, immediately sitting upright in his bed. Looking around, there was no one there, merely the breeze fluttering in from the opened window and a room devoid of life aside from him and his wife. He was breathing heavily in his panic, not knowing if he had been dreaming just then or not.

“Mmmm… come here, Johan,” Lady Clara murmured in her sleep. She tugged him back down into her arms, holding his head to her breasts. “You idiot.”

“My love,” he exhaled, calmed by her embrace. It was a dream, he decided. It had to of been. Only a dream could such things to him now, as his life—his wonderful life—was too content to cause him any horror not cured by the break of day.


	43. The Common Holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay I just now finally watched the s10 finale and I need something to do in order to not go crazy so I'm gonna post fic and see if that helps.
> 
> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 60, Clara at 41, Lena at 10, Astra and Tara at 8, Sterling at 4, and Maglina at 2. This also takes place partially in the setting of chapter five of the prompt fills.

It was in the dead of summer, just after the twins' birthday, when a great heatwave descended down upon the City and Earldom of Gallifrey. Activity crawled to a halt as people of all walks of life attempted to stay comfortable. For many, it involved descending into cellars and continually fanning themselves, though for others, it was not as simple.

"Let us take a holiday," the Marchioness said one day over breakfast. They all were eating cold sandwiches for their meals, for the only thing warm anyone could stand was a cup of tea. "We can shut down the castle for a week and have only those who still wish to work manning it; that should give us _and_ the staff a much-needed break."

"Where would we go though, dearest?" the Marquis wondered. "We cannot simply drop in on anyone without warning, and the heat is worse in the south."

"There is a place I have in-mind… one you showed me long ago, before Lena came into our lives," she replied. "I imagine it is cool at night, and there is plenty of shade there. Serdaressa Pond would love to know that her gift is not going to waste."

 _That_ caught the children's attention. All but Maglina stared at their parents with wide, curious eyes, knowing that the serdaressa she talked of was a rather particular one whose portrait hung in one of the corridors alongside one of her best friend—their lord grandfather.

"What did Serdaressa Pond gift you, Mama?" Astra asked excitedly.

"Yeah! I thought that she died before you married Papa!" Lena chimed in. "How can you have gotten something from her if she was already in the earth?"

"You are correct, starlet, but the gift from Serdaressa Pond is something _I_ received when I was a young man, and since then I have shared it with your Mama," the Marquis explained. He then glanced over at his wife, who was feeding fruit to their youngest on her lap. "There is not a building around there for miles—where will we stay?"

"…under the moon and stars, or maybe a tent," she supposed. "We can explore the options and decide before luncheon."

"The children have their studies though…"

"…and Daniel would probably enjoy the time off with Martha and Oriana as much as we would with our family." There was no arguing it at this point; she had decided. "Leave in two days and be gone for a week's time? Will that be enough notice for the servants and anyone else that might be impacted by our up and leaving?"

"Yes… that sounds like it will suffice," he agreed. The Marquis saw the excitement in his children's eyes and his hearts swelled in joy. "Lessons for tomorrow are cancelled then, but _only_ if you can behave for Sir Daniel and get your work done today."

"Yes, Papa!" his elder four all said at once. They were all filled to the brim with excitement as their tutor came to fetch them for the day.

They were going to take a family holiday.

* * *

Two days passed and early in the morning, when the sky was still pink-violet with twilight and the air warm from the previous day's sun, the Marquis and Marchioness woke their daughters and son to prepare them for the long road ahead. They all dressed in common clothes—rough-spun and undyed fabrics sewn into simple designs—and went down to the stables where a cart was waiting for them. The children nestled down on some blankets in the back for a nap whilst their parents sat in the front to drive the cart. A quick snap of the reins and a whistle from the Marquis's lips and they were on their way, navigating the waking Gallifreyan streets with considerable ease.

The hours passed and the cart moved steadily onwards. Eventually, the children all woke and watched the scenery go by with great curiosity. Where were they going? Would they enjoy their holiday? What sort of plans did Papa and Mama have for them? They watched farms and pastures roll by them, with midday bringing the change that made them curious.

"Noses in the cart—don't want them whipped off now," the Marquis announced. The children stared at their father, not understanding until he directed the horses to go off the road and onto a barely-there path that bounced them around the cart and sent low branches whooshing overhead. Eventually the path opened up onto a clearing, causing the Marquis to bring the horses to a halt.

"Is this our holidaying spot or are we just stopping for now?" Tara wondered.

"This is it," her father said. He helped his wife and children all out of the cart and led the little ones further into the glen. "Serdaressa Pond and your Grandmamma River would often come here to relax and spend time away from the city. When I was a young man, after it was only the serdaressa and me left, she brought me here so that someone would visit after she was gone. Since then I've shared it with your mama and now I share it with you."

The children observed the clearing they found themselves in. Thanks to the shade of the trees and the large hill they stood under, the air was much cooler there than in Gallifrey, where bricks and stone absorbed and let off heat day and night. The cliff carved out of the hillside had a gentle trickle of water that collected into a small pool and the grass was soft beneath their feet. There was something about the place that set it apart from the trees on the castle grounds, and none of them were entirely sure what.

"This was Grandmamma's secret place?" Sterling asked. He clung to his mother's skirts, which made her stroke his hair and chuckle.

"Yes, it was," she replied. "According to Papa, she found it while exploring for her studies. She was a great scholar and archaeologist—did you know that?"

"No," the little boy muttered. He watched his older sisters walk around in order to investigate their new surroundings. "Was Grandmamma River nice?"

"That I do not know," the Marchioness said sadly. She balanced Maglina on her hip with one arm and used her free one to urge her son forwards. He hugged his toy shan leopard and whimpered slightly, unsure of the place.

"Come on, Sterling!" Astra called from underneath a tree. "I found some neat bugs!"

Sterling glanced up at his mama, wanting permission before wandering off. She placed Maglina down on the grass next to him and put her hand in his, nodding in approval. The two siblings then made their way over to Astra, which allowed the Marchioness to begin helping her husband unpack the cart.

"I think this was a good idea," he said, handing her a bundle of blankets. He climbed into the back and began passing her a couple baskets with food, which they would need to secure high in a tree before nightfall brought scavengers to their holiday camp. "The children are having fun—just look at them." While Astra was showing Sterling and Maglina some bugs, Tara was attempting to climb a tree and Lena sat next to the pond, staring down into the water below.

"We have more to give them than titles and riches," she said astutely. "This is the sort of riches smallfolk receive, that they need to know of in order to understand better the ones they will one day govern, and it is worth more than even what His Highness the Prince has in the royal palace."

"Wise words from my most sage and trusted counsel," he nodded. He hopped down and kissed her gently. One hand found her cheek and the other found her hip, caressing his wife in dizzying devotion.

"Mama! Papa! Look at me!" Tara shouted, distracting her parents from one another. She was high up in a tree, giggling at her achievement, especially since she was still in a dress.

"Oh, good, you can help me then," the Marquis laughed. He pulled a rope from the back of the cart and tossed one end up to his middle daughter. "Wind that around the branch once, will you?"

"Sure!"

"Now stay up there until I say so."

He gave his wife a grin as they began to sort through the baskets—they were going to have fun taking their time.

* * *

 

That night, with the horses tied to a nearby tree to feed and rest, and after a fire was made where they heated their dinner, the Marquis and Marchioness put their children to bed. They had used poles and a tarp to cover the cart, turning it into a makeshift shelter. The young ones laid out soft blankets over the wooden floor and snuggled together for warmth in the cool forest air.

"Good night, my starlets," the Marquis hummed lowly as he gave his children kisses goodnight. "Tomorrow will be a fun day, so rest well." A bird rustled a tree branch above them and Maglina sat up straight, pointing dramatically.

"Owl!" she gasped.

"Yes, a guardian to watch over my dearest owlets," her father chuckled. He allowed her an extra kiss to the cheek and bid his sleepy children all goodnight before returning to his wife's side next to the fire.

"Are they all down?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," he said. He settled himself on the yellow-and-black tartan blanket and put an arm around her waist. "How long do you think it will be until they miss Gallifrey's walls?"

"If they have _any_ of your mother's wanderlust in them, then never," she smirked. The Marchioness leaned into her husband and watched the fire before them crackle and pop steadily. "Thank you for agreeing to this."

"Thank _you_ for suggesting it." He nuzzled his whiskers against her neck, eliciting a happy gasp. They then laid down, gazing up at the red night sky—marveling at the rainbow of dust swirling in the heavens and the mighty cosmos they named their issue after.

"Johan…?"

"Yes, Clara…?"

"We should take more holidays like this." She rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder, listening to his heart. "A tour of Kasterborous with the children would be lovely. Don't you agree?"

"I wish I could," he frowned. He kissed the top of her head and held her close, his gaze fixed upon the stars. "There is a reason my sword is in the cart and a pistol and knife in my boots, despite liking none of these things."

"…because you are paranoid?"

"No; it is because I am Lord Marquis, you are Lady Marchioness, and we not only have the Lady Earlessa, but her heirs as well." A hand rested on his chest and he took in his own to kiss. "The moon and stars above us are nothing compared to my wife and children, and I don't want _any_ sort of accident to befall us."

"Paranoid," she decided. Curling into his side, she took in his scent—must from the road, sweat, and campfire—and smiled into his shirt. "Let us be brave, Johan. If we are not brave, then what are we?"

"I… I don't know."

"If we are not brave, then we are little better than the courtiers who hide themselves from the governed high in their towers, the ones who marry their children off before they are weaned from the breast, and act as though being sired by a titled man automatically makes them more worthy of greatness than those who perform truly heroic deeds." She shifted and propped herself up on an elbow, staring down at him with a curtain of her brown hair shielding them from the fire. "We may have been born into the castes and ceremony, but we are _not_ so foolish as to think they are good company. The brave need not rely on such things."

"Even the brave are cut down by those they love," he replied, voice low and somber. "Your dear mother was all those years ago, and I do not want to know if it was merely a fluke or the start of a genetic trend."

"You sound like Papa, I swear," she sighed. She bent to kiss him softly, lips brushing against his and scraping his whiskers. "Stop running, you silly man—you're the Doctor."

"…as are you, my beloved." They laid there kissing and petting, enjoying the sounds of the quiet wood, until a familiar squeak caught their attention. Maglina had climbed out of the cart and made her way over to them, rubbing her eyes and sniffling in order to hold back tears.

"Oh, there now starlet… did you have a bad dream?" the Marquis crooned. His youngest nodded and climbed over him, nestling herself between her parents. "Did you know that, Clara? Our Maglina had a bad dream."

"Poor child," she tutted. The Marchioness stroked the girl's hair and laid down so that her husband could hold the both of them properly. "You can stay with Mama and Papa for tonight, alright?" A nod into her chest in reply. "Afterwards, you have to sleep with your brother and sisters; is that clear?" Another nod and their daughter clung to them, putting a damper on any more activities for the adults that evening.

" _Goodnight, my moon and stars_ ," the Marquis murmured in the ceremonial tongue. " _You are good, you are loved, and you most certainly are under my protection. Sleep well_."

…and they did.


	44. The Inconvenient Injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place a few months after the Cadet Branch chapters (14 and 15). Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 64, Daniel at 47, Clara at 45, Martha at 42, Lena at 14, Astra and Tara at 12, Sterling at 8, Maglina and Oriana at 6, and Seren at an old 1.

The battle raged as the Marquis stood his ground against the Daleki commander, matching him in swordsmanship blow for blow. Ogronish tribesmen, Kasterborsians, and Daleks alike littered the field—the dead, the dying, and the still-fighting. Hours of clashing had already passed and the Marquis’s Border Forces knew they needed to hold out only for a short while longer, for the sun was soon to set.

Seeing his chance, the Marquis took advantage of a slight slip in his opponent’s step, using the short waver to thrust the tip of his sword through a joint in the Dalek’s armor and between its ribs. He cursed lowly in the ceremonial tongue before twisting the blade and waiting for the skewered corpse to go limp before letting it slide off the end.

The deed was done—Dalek’s retreat was inevitable.

As he rested, leaning against his sword pommel like a cane, it became clear to the Marquis that his efforts had paid off. Nearby Daleki and Ogronish soldiers saw his victory and fled for the stronghold of Skaro, for a new strategy needed to be concocted now that the lynchpin commander was no more.

“Are you well enough to walk?” The Marquis glanced over his shoulder and saw Medical Officer Jones-Pink walking towards him, looking worse for wear herself. “Those wounds should be treated immediately.”

“Get to the non-Gallifreyan soldiers first; they don’t heal like you and me.”

“…but you are our liege lord.”

“…and you also have a liege lady if need be—go and do as you’re told.” There was no energy or ire to his voice, which made the physician chuckle.

“It is _Her Ladyship’s_ command.”

She had him there. Sighing in resignation, the Marquis accepted this—he could not argue against the Marchioness’s wishes, even with so many miles between them. It did not matter that she was in the capital and her messenger was smirking in jest, for she was always looking out for him. He waited for his physician and friend to stop by his side and leaned on her arm. They gave one another small smiles, though they vanished when they saw what should have been the impossible:

The Dalek commander was still alive… and holding a detonator in his hand.

“GLORY TO THE ALLFATHER!”

In less than a second, the Marquis pulled the physician close, enveloping her in his cape as he stepped between her and the Dalek. Another second and the Dalek exploded, blasting a hole in the ground and its enemies yards away. Medical Officer Jones-Pink was able to strain to sit up, yet the Marquis…

“I need a stretcher! The Marquis is down!” the physician panicked. Adrenaline pumped into her system anew as she saw him; he was unconscious, with mud and blood on his face and in his whiskers. His cape was singed from the blast and clothes torn from the fall. If she did not do everything in her power to make sure he was alright, not only would her good friend and marchioness never forgive her, but six young ones would not as well.

Once the Marquis was on a stretcher, the physician went right to work. She led the team back to the medical tent and had him placed on the first bed next to her equipment. Things went quickly as she made sure to tear off his armor, sew up his wounds, splint his left forearm, and check him for internal injuries. He was still unconscious when she finished, and remained so without change as she observed his progress between other patients. By the time she was done tending to their brethren, it was late into the night and he had not yet woken. She ordered him to be taken to his tent so that she could watch over him without distraction—the remaining medical staff was more than sufficient to care for the other soldiers. When the stretcher-bearers gave her odd looks for wanting to bring him away from the bulk of her medical equipment, she set her face and frowned at them.

“By command of my military rank of Colonel in the Kasterborsian Border Forces, my societal station as Baroness Coal-on-the-Hill, and my personal fortune of being this man’s friend, I **_order_** that the Marquis be transferred to his tent so that he can convalesce in quiet privacy.”

With not a soul in the camp wishing to oppose Medical Officer Jones-Pink when she brought up her rarely-flaunted powers, the stretcher-bearers acquiesced and brought their liege lord to his tent soon as the physician was done packing a bag of supplies to bring along. She requested some food from the mess tent and once she finished eating, she began her vigil at the Doctor’s side.

Two days passed and there was little sign of change. Still, she kept watch, removing the splint, changing bandages, and even checking vitals at all hours, day and night. It was so exhausting that she was dozing lightly when he finally woke, the movement from the bed as he sat up waking her with a start.

“Johan! Don’t get up!” she scolded, pushing the Marquis back down on the mattress. “You had me worried!”

“How… how long have I been laying here…?” he asked. “I feel so _sore_ …”

“Nearly three days ago now, we were caught in a suicide attack from a Dalek we thought you killed in combat,” she explained. “You shielded me from the blast with your cape and body, and I feared you weren’t going to make it through.”

“We are stronger than that,” he chuckled weakly. “We are Kasterborsians… _Gallifreyans_ … it takes more than an explosion to kill us.”

“Except for the fact that it nearly did—Kasterborous and Gallifrey don’t need any more widows and orphans than they already have today.”

“This… this is true,” he agreed. He drew his thoughts inwards, dwelling in dangerous places. “When can I return to Gallifrey?”

“If you are still stable after a few days, then I think you can go home with an escort,” the physician replied. “After we both get some sleep, I’ll write Clara for you.”

“Clara…?” The Marquis knitted his brows and stared at the physician in wonder. “Who is Clara?”

A weight dropped in the woman’s stomach as she gawped at him. “Johan, Clara is your _wife_ —the mother of your _children_ —what are you saying?!”

“Is her name Clara?” He searched his mind, finding that the entire thing was a bit hazy, as though a heavy summer fog had descended upon it. “I remember a yearning, a joy, a sorrow… but her face… there is nothing.” He blinked, a frown settling on his face. “ _Children_ …?”

“Oh _gods_ , I have to get you home _immediately_ ,” the physician said uneasily. She stood and poked her head out the tent flap, giving the guards orders to have a cart prepared for their lord’s transport, before turning back to the Marquis. He was attempting to sit up again, which prompted her to rush to his side and ease him down.

“Martha, I’m perfectly fine—”

“No, you’re not if you cannot remember Clara or your children.”

“Why do I remember you then?!”

“…because our friendship has been mostly forged here, on the battlefield, away from Clara, Daniel, and the children.” She paused, quirking an eyebrow. “Do you remember Daniel?”

“Your puppy, correct? A cat? A tortoise?”

“My _husband_ , you idiot.” She considered bringing up the history between their spouses, though thought the better of it for the time being, as it could possibly only make him angry for the return trip, which was the last thing she needed. Instead, she began to rummage around the tent, gathering up his belongings. “I am writing Clara when we return to Gallifrey, and maybe she can return from that conference sooner rather than later. Being around the children should help speed up your recovery at the very least.”

“I… why is this happening to me…?” he asked, tone hushed and raspy. “I know there should be something there, but I cannot see her face, know her smell, feel her touch…”

“It was the explosion, rattling your brain,” she explained. “You took the brunt of the blow for me, and Gallifreyan or no, there is bound to be some after-effects of that.” She put all of his things into the small pack she knew he brought to the front with him, feeling fortunate that he always traveled light when aiding his troops. “Putting you in a familiar environment, with familiar people, will help to put your brain right again.”

“How do I know that this is genuine and you’re not part of an elaborate scheme?”

“Oh, come off it, Johan—if you can get your own head out of your arse for two minutes, then you will know that you’re being silly. Out of all the people here on the front lines, ones that swore they would die for you and the march while _fully meaning it_ , the very last one you need to worry about is me.” She leaned over him, narrowing her eyes into a precise glare. “If you step one toe out of line, however, I will be the absolute **_first_** thing you need to worry about as your standing physician. Have I made myself clear?”

“Perfectly.”

“Good, now let’s get you back to Castle Gallifrey.”

* * *

The road back to Gallifrey was a long one, slow and careful to not agitate the wounds any of the travelers had sustained. While the Marquis was their top priority, there were also a few common soldiers whose situations had been deemed critical enough to make the journey back to the hospital that joined the caravan. The Marquis sat in the back of a cart, watching the Baroness as she tended to a young man whose legs had been hit with poison-tipped arrows during an after-raid. The lad—just barely a year out of the Academy from the looks of him—was writhing in pain as he fought the conversion process that was going on inside his body. Some Daleks, the man knew, were natural-born, genuine marvels of medicine and genetic study should any of them stop killing long enough to be examined. Their resistance to chemical weapons and physical hardiness was begot from generations upon generations of living in the harsh country in and around their capital of Skaro—it was a long-documented fact that out of the ancient skirmishes between the Thal and Kaled communities, only Daleks remained to rise from the ashes, because they were _powerful_.

The remaining Daleks, however, were ones that were made. Those were the most dangerous, for if the conversion poison was not treated in-time, they could go on a rampage only stopped with the converted’s death. Different people had differing reactions to the poison, but the most common symptoms were days of intense pain as their innards shifted and various hallucinations as their brains recalibrated themselves to only love the Allfather of the Dalek Empire. The lad’s legs were bound in tourniquets that kept most of the poison from the thighs down while he awaited the city’s more advanced treatments; even the Marquis, untrained in medicine, knew that the best hope for the boy now was amputation to stop the poison from taking him.

His hearts sank, both for the soldier and for himself. The lad was most likely to lose his legs while he could barely recall anything from the past twenty years. It would undoubtedly be hard on the soldier, as now his career options were limited for the remainder of what could possibly be a long life, but what the jerking, screaming, sobbing lad had in excess no matter what was _time_. The Marquis knew he was outwardly aged beyond his years for his people, yet he could not remember feeling this achy, this weary, this drained before. Whereas the lad could adjust to his new situation over time, was there such hope for his liege lord? He was scared, and felt guilty for it, despite recalling how mental wounds had the potential to be more dangerous than physical ones. Something told him that if his title of Doctor was not merely a folk title, that he did have knowledge of medicine like the Baroness, that it would put him more at-ease for the ride at least. He could try assisting the lad’s recovery, but at this point the only thing he could do was respectfully sit out of the way.

What good did an empty title and an imaginary second heart do if it was of no practical use, anyhow?

It took a day longer than normal, but the military caravan finally made it back to Gallifrey. The soldiers were dropped off at the hospital, whilst the Baroness and Marquis continued on towards the castle. He was quiet as they walked through the corridors of his ancestral home, looking around carefully for any sign of the twenty-odd years that were missing from his memory.

“Alright, I want you to stay in the private wing for the time being,” the Baroness ordered. “Your quarters, private study and library, the lounge or drawing room, but nothing further. If there’s something that calls you outside of the wing, you need an escort.”

“I do not!” he argued.

“We don’t know if this is the first phase of your memory loss, or even how well your internal map of the castle has survived,” she fired back. “For now though, get some sleep. I will come back to check in on you around teatime.”

“You really don’t have to, Martha,” he scowled. By now they were in the private wing, walking along towards his chambers. When he didn’t hear a response, he looked and realized she had stopped a ways down the corridor, by a door he knew to not be his. “What are you doing?”

“This is the door to your quarters, isn’t it?”

“That is normally the Companion’s Suite—I use it as a war room of sorts,” he explained.

“It wasn’t the last time I was here.”

“…and when was that?”

The Baroness had little chance to reply, for the Marquis had opened the door before him and stepped into the room. He froze when he saw that it was not his bedroom, as he remembered it so clearly, but instead there were toys and child-sized beds and _actual children_ around the space that all snapped their attention on him when he entered the room. The smallest two, a boy and a girl, rushed towards him happily, crashing into his legs with tight hugs. Another girl with the same complexion as the Baroness ran to her when she entered and the last boy and a young teenaged girl stood from their places and walked over calmly, giving the Marquis a hug each.

“We missed you, Papa!” the small girl said.

“Papa gone long! Too long!” the small boy added.

“Did something happen on the front?” the eldest girl asked.

“What do you know about the front?” the Marquis questioned curiously. The teen raised an eyebrow at him, unsure of how to respond.

“Lena, your papa isn’t feeling himself,” the Baroness said, jumping into the conversation. “A bomb went off near us and he suffered a significant blow to the head. He is stable otherwise, but his memory is a bit jumbled. It should only be temporary from what I can tell.”

“Why is your memory good, Mum?” the girl attached to the Baroness wondered.

“…because Lord Johan selflessly shielded me from most of the blast,” she replied. The Baroness then looked at the teen, nodding gravely. “Please make sure your papa rests. I’m taking Oriana down to the cottage and will be back later. We can talk then about what to do.”

“Understood; have you written Mama?”

The Baroness gave the teen a look, one that she understood and the Marquis could not read. He scowled as he looked at them both, unable to decipher their silent conversation, and grunted.

“This is a farce.”

“What is a fart, Papa?” the little girl wondered.

“He said a _farce_ , Maggie,” the older boy corrected. “He means it’s absurd.” The boy then stared up at him curiously. “What do you think is a farce, Papa?”

“My bed is not where it should be, I have no mourning blacks, these whiskers feel _ridiculous_ , and apparently I’ve somehow missed the past twenty years of my life, where I supposedly married and sired children that I don’t even remember,” he replied sharply. “ _That_ is the farce, lad.” The boy backed away slightly, taken by surprise by his tone.

“ _Lord Marquis Johan Lonan of Kasterborous and Gallifrey_ ,” the teen snapped. “Don’t you _dare_ think that just because you suffered an injury and cannot remember who we are, that it makes it acceptable to speak to us like that. I will show you your quarters, and then you will nap, staying out of our way while we decide what to do with your sorry arse.”

“Don’t you _dare_ talk to me that way, young lady,” he fired back. “Considering your commoner’s hairstyle, this seems more and more like a joke every moment that passes.”

“My hair is _short_ because of _your_ great-uncle! It was not that long ago now that my siblings and I had to escape the walls of Gallifrey while he attempted a coup, and it was easier to leave as a bunch of boys in breeches than it was as girls with long braids and dresses.” She held the ends of her hair, which rested just above her shoulders, and glared daggers at him. “This has even _grown_ since then—if you cannot remember that then you truly are mad.”

“Those pretenders have not set foot in this earldom, let alone the march, in nearly _five-score years_ ,” he stated. “If they were here, then I would have known and thrown them out on their treacherous backsides.”

The nursery grew silent, those around the Marquis staring at him in shock. He stared back in an attempt to figure out his next course of action only to be taken by surprise—the teenager grabbed his hair and yanked down, pulling him through the room.

“Ow! Let _go_ of me!” he shouted.

“Since Mama is not here and you are not in control of your senses, I am in charge,” she stated. She dragged him into the adjoining room and tossed him in the direction of the bed. “As not only your earlessa, but your eldest child and heir, I _order_ you to get some rest and not leave this room until you’ve at least remembered your manners!”

“You cannot order me around, child!”

“If I must, then I _will_!” Tears began to well in her eyes, red rimming her lids and her entire body shaking. “So help me, Papa; I am going to make sure that you do not make fools out of us, all because you had to show decency and courage in the line of duty. Now _stay here_ or I will _make you stay_! Do you understand?!”

Silence settled between them. The teen and the Marquis exchanged glares for a moment before the former stormed back into the other room, slamming the door behind her and leaving the latter alone. Glancing around the room, the Marquis could see some of his things scattered around as though that was where he truly lived. A look in the wardrobe revealed clothes for him—only one set of blacks—and dresses made for a woman the Baroness’s height. If this was a trick, it was a very elaborate one.

Not wanting to face the young teen with a temper to match his own, the Marquis kicked off his boots, deposited his cloak on a chair, and laid himself out on the bed covers. Maybe a nap would help things make more sense. He breathed in the scent in the pillow, not knowing why it made him feel more at-ease, yet feeling so all the same.

What was happening to him?


	45. The Inconvenient Injury (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This picks up immediately from the previous chapter.
> 
> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 64, Clara at 45, Lena at 14, Astra and Tara at 12, Sterling at 8, Maglina at 6, and Seren at an old 1.

It was distressingly early in the morning when the Marchioness and her twin daughters were down at breakfast in their modest house in the capitol. Since arriving in the royal city, there was a flurry of activity that they were swept up in and they needed to make sure they ate earlier than normal in order to keep up their strength for the day ahead. The Marchioness nearly regretted bringing along her daughters on the excursion, yet not only did they keep up with all the speakers and their inanity, but they assisted her in keeping notes and made the best of the late-summer trip as an essential part of their highborn education. Despite this, the trip was still taking its toll on the youngsters, which their mother could not blame them for in the slightest.

“Mama, how long do we need to be here yet?” Tara wondered as she picked at her eggs. “The blue night sky is unnerving, I haven’t sparred with anyone in _ages_ , and I’m starting to feel sluggish just sitting around all the time.”

“A few more days, at the least,” her mother replied. “I know that the conference was supposed to end two days ago, but that doesn’t mean that everyone feels the need to be on-time _or_ timely with their speeches.”

“I still say that you should take the day off and head down to the local Academy to see if anyone’s there that can give you a decent challenge,” Astra mentioned. Her twin scoffed at that, though not out of disrespect to her sister.

“Yeah, and get caught when someone’s parents gets transferred to the Border Forces? Not a chance.”

“Girls, behave,” the Marchioness sighed. She then noticed that the butler was approaching her, a silver tray in his hand. “What is this? I didn’t think the postman delivered at this hour.”

“A special courier came from Gallifrey with this while you were still asleep, milady,” he replied. “I knew it would be better to allow you to wake up and prepare for the day first, since the three extra hours of rest you got this morning could make all the difference in His Majesty’s court.”

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness and honesty,” she replied, taking the letter from the tray. The butler then excused himself, allowing the Marchioness privacy once again. “Oh, it’s from Martha…”

“What was so important that Lady Martha had to write all the way from the Daleki front?” Tara mused through a mouth of potatoes.

“She’s not at the front—she’s in Gallifrey,” the Marchioness frowned. She continued reading silently, not allowing her daughters to know just yet.

‘ _Please let me preface this by telling you that we have things under control for now, and that you should remain at the conference for as long as possible so as not to draw attention. This could be disastrous if word got out, even if it is resolved before you get on the road. Lena didn’t even want me to write you because of it, but **my** liege earlessa forgets I do this in the best interest of **our** liege marchioness_ …’

Astra and Tara watched as their mother grew pale while her eyes scanned the letter over and over. The girls’ stomachs lurched, for they remembered their father having the same reaction when receiving a letter about Maglina being born in the middle of battle.

“…Mama…?” Astra asked. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s your father,” the Marchioness replied, her voice dry. She took a sip of water, the glass shaking in her hand. “He shielded Martha from an explosion while on the front. The most either has physically is some cuts and bruises, but…” She choked up, attempting to hold herself together. “His memory of the past twenty years has faded due to a blow to his head.”

“Papa? Forget twenty years?” Tara questioned. “We’re his night sky—someone doesn’t just _forget_ their night sky due to a bump on the head.”

“It sounds like Papa just did,” Astra said quietly. “Lady Martha wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“You’re right, dear,” the Marchioness said. “You are both right; Papa wouldn’t simply forget us without good reason, nor would Martha lie about such a thing happening.” She read on, finishing the letter before continuing the discussion. “It does sound like Lena has things under control with Martha and Daniel’s help, which will allow us to finish the conference and not draw attention to ourselves, but I want you both to make sure that you are able to leave for home at a moment’s notice, you hear? I don’t want to put your sister through any more than she has to bear due of this, because it’s already been too much.”

“Yes, Mama,” the twins answered in chorus. Suddenly, all three of them no longer felt very hungry as the reality of the situation settled over the breakfast hall. They needed the conference to be over with, right then and there, for their duty truly lied elsewhere.

* * *

The world was hazy as the Marquis drifted back to consciousness. He felt the odd, yet assuring weights of Maglina and Seren, the youngsters having crept into his bed in the middle of the night. The two had been clinging to him since he had returned from the Daleki border, which was something he had admittedly not been expecting to be so comforting at first. He uncovered himself of blankets and children both and padded over towards the wardrobe, picking an outfit for the day—still surprised that his clothes were not all black as he remembered—and slipping behind the dressing screen to change.

Yes, things had definitely been odd the past couple of weeks, to say the least. The four children that claimed to be his own issue were there at his side at almost all times, there to make sure that he was not without someone to explain why something seemed off now that twenty years had vanished from his living memory. The teenager, Lena, was genuinely one of the most knowledgeable youngsters he had ever met, and resembled him so scarily that there was no other explanation—she _certainly_ was his child. Sterling and Seren were as well, with the same facial structure and curly brown hair as their elder sister. There was only one snag in the entire thing, and she was a six year old with more energy than he could have ever imagined.

“Papa…?” Think of her and she shall come. Maglina was tugging at his trouser leg, stuffed bunny in-tow and still half asleep.

“What is it, my child?”

“ _Starlet_ ,” she insisted grumpily. “You call us your _starlets_ , Papa.” She frowned up at him, not caring that there was no shirt on his torso or that the sky was still red from night. “ _Papa_ …”

“What is it, starlet?” he asked. The Marquis bent down on one knee in order to look her in the eyes. Her face, it was one that he could not place for the life of him, yet _her eyes_ … they were his late lord father’s eyes, may he face an entire Cyberan battalion alone. “What’s wrong? Why are you awake when you should be dreaming of good things?”

“Seren made his nappy stinky.”

“That _is_ a problem; let me dress for the day and I will change him.”

“Thank you, Papa.” Wobbling in sleep, she went to kiss him on the cheek and landed on his whiskers instead. She then disappeared around the dressing screen, the sound of her rustling the bedding reaching him only a few moments later.

As he finished dressing, the Marquis wondered about what his life had become during the years that he was unable to recall. Turning his room into a nursery, raising children without the aid of a governess, employing a tutor with a face full of Cyberan metal… there was so much that needed adjusting to since returning home. What sort of woman was he with that made this their daily routine?

The Marquis checked himself in the mirror once his cloak was on and steeled himself to face the nappy. He plucked the soiled boy from his bed, ordered Maglina to follow, and went into the nursery. While Maglina crawled into bed with Sterling, who seemed to not care in the slightest that his sister joined him considering how he slept on, the Marquis brought Seren to the changing table and swiftly switched out not only the nappy, but the boy’s dress as well. When he attempted to place him back in his child’s bed, the lad clung to him, not wanting to let go.

“Papa, stay,” he whimpered.

“Papa has work to do,” the Marquis replied, his hearts not entirely behind his words. “Rest a while longer while the sky is red—there is still plenty of day left ahead of us.” He left a kiss on the boy’s brow and stroked his curls before leaving him, for there genuinely was work to be done.

Taking breakfast in his study, as was the norm that he knew, the Marquis went about his business when it came to the management of the march and earldom. His early start meant that he was able to do the work of two people at the normal rate, which surprised some of the newer staff when it came to his efficiency. By the time lunch was over—which he also took in his study—the Marquis was also joined by the young Earlessa, who sat herself down at one of the two extra desks in the room and went through post addressed specifically to her. He discreetly marveled at her competency despite her young age, recalling how his largest duty at fourteen was falling in love. Between her understanding of her role within the march and how she handled herself upon his return to Gallifrey, he was able to figure that his was a special issue, it seemed, and it made part of him beam with pride.

When Lena was done, however, she made it her distinct mission to take the Marquis with her on a tour of the castle. It seemed to be a daily occurrence, with the young woman showing him portraits done of her and her siblings, of her mother, of the entire family, attempting to click something into place in his brain. Instead all the Marquis could do was stare at a face that had no place in his memory, attempting to place it in the sea of murky moments and brief flashes that were attempting to return to him. He could not recall her face, much to his chagrin, and the only way he knew there had to of been something there was when he would look at Maglina—the child with the mysterious woman’s face, yet his late lord father’s eyes.

“This one was painted when I was a baby, Papa,” she said, pointing out the portrait of him and the woman in the hall. All four children were with him that afternoon, the youngest diligently holding onto his cape as they walked, his elder siblings attempting to aid their father in regaining his memory.

“Why does she hold a Doctor’s scepter?” he asked. He furrowed his brow, attempting to make sense of the image before him. He had never known the Doctor and the Companion both to hold scepters, which meant that the image before him was most confusing.

“You and Mama are both the Doctor, which means that you both have a scepter,” Lena explained, voice slow and deliberate. “She was created Marchioness and Companion upon your marriage, but you began to share the title of Doctor when I was still in the womb.” The teen stared up at the portrait almost wistfully, as though she remembered the time the portrait was sat. “This was a challenging setup, since Maggie and Sterling kept wanting to play with you during the portraitist’s sessions.”

“…but if this is me with your mama… my wife… then why is this also here?” the Marquis wondered. He motioned towards the smaller portrait to its right, of him only a handful of years older than the teen and a girl the same age, though now long-dead.

“Mama does not want Lady Melody’s memory to be buried simply because she is,” Lena replied. “We cannot change the past, but we can make it so that the future remembers kindly those that did no harm.”

“How are you so wise for someone so young?”

“My parents taught me to be so.”

He chuckled at that, allowing himself to wander in thought. These children… they were growing on him. Theirs was a presence that he was beginning to wholly accept and that made his hearts feel safer, in a way, more secure. He sat down on a bench and allowed Seren to climb into his lap, cuddling into his chest possessively.

Far off, in another part of the castle, a heavy bell rang to signal the time. When it finished, Maglina gasped dramatically.

“Oh no! I need to practice today!” She began to panic, turning towards the Marquis in as much desperation a six-year-old could display. “Papa? Can you please help me practice?”

“What are you practicing?”

“Singing, but Astra is not here. She’s the one who usually plays the violin and I sing to that, or to the piano when Mister Alydon is here, and neither of them are around. Do you play an instrument?”

“I used to, when I was younger,” he replied. “Maybe I still can… let me see…”

“Oh, _thank you_ , Papa!” she gasped. She took her father by the hand and pulled him along, Seren and all, exiting the portrait hall. Lena noticed their absence and caught up with them, Sterling at her heels.

“Maggie! What are you doing?!” she scolded.

“Papa’s gonna help me practice my scales!” her youngest sister insisted. Lena and Sterling exchanged worried glances and followed them to the music room, where all the instruments were kept. Large and quiet, the room had been carefully constructed with specific attention to sound, making it so that there was not only an odd shape to the walls, but all the surfaces were covered in soft cloth. It took the Marquis a bit of searching, but he found a large case in the back corner of the room, which he hauled out onto the main of the floor.

“What’s that, Papa?” Sterling asked. It was now his turn to hold Seren, his baby brother holding his hand tightly in the unfamiliar room.

“My large bass—I cannot believe it is still here,” his father said. After pulling up a chair, he took the instrument out, examined it for any broken strings, put the endpin in, and sat with the instrument in front of him. “I haven’t played this since I was a much younger man.”

“That’s a long time,” Maglina frowned. “I can wait for you if you need to warm up. Mister Alydon often needs to warm up before he plays, and he plays much more often.”

“Yes, I think so,” the Marquis replied. He watched as the children sat down before he started tuning the bass, plucking the strings while adjusting the pins. After running the bow over the strings to check, he glanced over at the children again—they were still sitting quietly—before playing a few simple chords on the large bass that made him search deep within his memory to his boyhood lessons.

When those were done, he closed his eyes and started to automatically shift into a song. It was not one from rote memory, but one he composed as he went. His emotions poured into it—everything that he could speak and the things that he could not—his hearts and his soul. He let himself flow through his fingertips and into the instrument, reverberating throughout the room.

“Papa, stop!”

The Marquis’s song came to a halt as he heard a tiny screech over the music. His eyes snapped open and he took the bow from the strings, only to see that Sterling and Maglina were attempting to comfort Lena, who was suddenly sobbing uncontrollably. Seren sat in her lap incredibly confused, having crawled in wondering what all the commotion was about.

“What’s wrong?!” the Marquis gasped. He set the large bass down and rushed to Lena’s side. “Why are you crying?! Should we call a physician?!”

“No, Papa,” the teen managed through tears. “That song… that song is _beautiful_.” She took the handkerchief he offered and blew her nose. “What’s it called?”

“I… I forgot.”

“Then I think you should consider a new name for it.”

“Yeah—I probably should.”

“…but don’t stop, Papa,” Lena insisted. “I think… I think playing… is good for you.”

“It might be,” he agreed.

“Yeah, Papa, I know you don’t remember,” Sterling piped up, “but once you told us that memories become stories. Maybe sometimes they become songs instead…?”

“How very astute of you, starlet,” the Marquis smiled. He ruffled Sterling’s hair, double-checked to make sure that Lena was still alright, and returned to the large bass. After making sure he did not knock it out of tune while hastily setting it down, he continued playing, picking up the song where he had left off. He thought while he played, musing on where the notes were coming from. How deep were they within his consciousness? Where did they come from? Were they a memory, as Sterling suggested in his pure child’s innocence? It was something he needed to know.

Eventually, as he played, an image began to form in his mind. He saw himself holding a woman’s hand, pricking it with the tip of a knife blade. The same face stared up at him, laughter on her lips and frost in her breath. Before long she was sobbing in his arms, clinging to him as he stroked her hair and whispered comforts, the both of them in bed yet clothed. Flashes went by and the looks became increasingly loving, the emotions lustful, and before long they were reciting their vows and laying as a husband and wife were always meant to lay.

 _Clara_.

Yes, it was Clara! She was the one who borne him not just the four children before him, but a set of twins as well! A mind! A beauty! A furious act of nature and yet a calming embrace all the same! It was Clara who kept him sane during the day and warm at night! Clara, the moon in his sky, the love of his life, the mother of his stars, and the entire reason he was still on this side of the earth!

_Clara…! **His** Clara…!_

It was now the Marquis’s turn to break down into sobs. He stopped playing and clutched the neck of the bass as he leaned into it, crying freely. The instrument was taken from him and before he knew it, the younger three children were all hugging him, whilst Lena placed a hand on his shoulder. He cried as he held the young ones close—never again did he want to experience the vast emptiness that had consumed him the past couple weeks, and the only way to do that was to keep his loved ones close.

“Johan?”

The Marquis blinked away tears to see that the Marchioness was standing in the doorway to the music room, worry plastered upon her face. He gently eased away the children and ran to meet her, picking her up in a twirling hug that ended in a tender, adoring kiss that took breath from them both. After a second kiss, followed by a third and a fourth, the Marquis devolved into tears yet again, this time as he held his wife close.

“Good,” she choked out. “You remember; I came as soon as I could. Oh **_gods_** , you remember…”

“…and I pray, genuinely pray, that I shall for the remainder of my days, even that dark time when the children lay me in the earth between the love wrenched from me so violently from me in my youth and the enduring love that so graciously keeps my hearts in the best of care as I age alongside her.” He swallowed hard, bringing her close and kissing the top of her head. So caught up in her—her scent, her touch, her very presence—that he forgot where they were until a tug at his cape caught his attention.

“Papa? I still need to practice.”

* * *

Though few were ever privy to that which was the Marquis’s inconvenient injury, the ones who did know were not liable to forget about it anytime soon. The Baroness Coal-on-the-Hill nearly cried at learning of his recovery, servants breathed a sigh of relief, and those of his children who were aware of the situation made sure to keep the event tucked away within their memory as a lesson to be repeated another day.

It was the Marchioness, however, who took great care into making sure that such a thing never happened again. She found the spot where she had etched her name on his hearts that night, making him gasp and plead until she was certain that the letters were carved deep into his very soul. They were passionate, sensual, and enthusiastic as they made love well into the night, one never wanting to stop lest the other pull away from their grasp too soon.


	46. The Job Interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a starlet-centric chapter for everyone, taking place right after chapter 41. I meant to post this sooner, but the Inconvenient Injury chapters got in the way.
> 
> Rough ages are: Lena at 25, Grant at 22, and Sterling is 19.

It was a quiet, nearly serene morning on the Kasterborsian-Daleki border as Second Lieutenant Sterling A. Smith sorted through the papers on his work desk. Scouts had returned from beyond the border overnight with reports of the enemy’s movement, which meant that he had maps to redraw before midday’s officer’s meeting. He had just pinned a large sheet of map parchment to his drafting table when an enlisted soldier entered the tent. She was younger than him—part of the new batch of recruits that had arrived only a few months prior—and stared at him with cautious uncertainty.

“Sir…?” she said. “You’re wanted in the strategy tent.”

“Can you please tell the brigadier that I will be there in about half an hour?” he replied. “I’m just about to redraw the map they need for the daily meeting.”

“It’s not the brigadier requesting your presence, but Your-Sister-Her-Ladyship, milord,” she said shakily. Ah, _that_ was the reason behind her unease—not everyone in the camp could claim that a meeting with a member of nobility was an average thing, and an encounter with Lena was likely a terrifying one for the uninitiated. “I was told that another will redraw the maps today, and that I am to stand guard over the information until he arrives. She said it was of utmost importance, milord, and wants to see you soon as you can manage.”

Sterling’s heart skipped a beat—Lena _never_ said that anything was of any sort of importance, making “utmost” weigh heavy against his chest. He stood and nodded, complying with the relayed orders.

“Thank you, Private,” he said. Sterling stood and patted the soldier on the shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry—we don’t bite, no matter what my sister wants you to believe.” He then left the tent without much more delay. His nerves were beginning to fray; what could it be?

Navigating through the camp, the young man found the strategy tent with ease and was allowed access without a fuss. Sure enough, Lena was there, sitting at the large table that had one of his maps laid out across the surface, quietly discussing something with two officers. The sight of her made Sterling’s stomach drop, filling him with dread.

“Leave us,” she ordered once she saw her brother. The other two men in the tent, both of a decidedly much-higher rank than Sterling, left and they were alone. “Sit please.”

“Cut the theatrics, Lena, what’s going on?” he asked as he sat down. Her face did not change from its ruler’s mask, which caused his heart to nearly skip a beat. “Is something the matter at home? Is it Papa? Astra? It’s not Jasper or the baby, is it?”

“No, it’s nothing to cause you alarm,” she replied. Sterling slumped back in his seat, relieved. “I just need you to take a leave now.”

“Wait, now?!” He bolted straight upwards, his back stiff as he sat. “I just returned three weeks ago!”

“…and _I_ just finished talking with the men normally in charge of you, and they’re willing to spare you for a fortnight,” Lena said. She fiddled with a figurine of a Daleki soldier idly, tracing the border with it. “Be honest with yourself, Sterling: they don’t need you.”

“No, but the fact is I show up without complaint and I don’t try to pull rank or crazy stunts like Tara,” he snipped. “People meet me and they don’t believe I’m her younger brother.”

“To be fair, very few believe we’re related to Tara,” she shrugged. “Sometimes the only reason I believe it myself is because Astra insists the resemblance between them is still uncanny.” She put the figurine down and stared at her brother from under her brow. “Still, I need you to pack your things—special assignment.”

“I’m already not liked because of how much time I take off,” Sterling grumbled. He saw that his sister’s expression hadn’t changed—he was trapped. “What’s the assignment?”

“You’ve been to Jarlshall, correct?” Lena asked.

“Wait… you mean the house in the hills Papa won’t enter because that’s where his first wife died alongside our older brother?”

“ _Sibling_ —he never learned the gender—and yes. It is where in less than a week I’m going to be interviewing a young man from the southern mountains…”

“Wait, what…?” Sterling leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You want me, to go with you, to a house in the middle of nowhere that could be haunted by Papa’s first family for all we know, and _abandon my post_ , so that I can be the obtrusive younger brother chaperone?”

“It’s not abandoning your post if your Lady Marchioness commands it.”

“Lady Marchionesses don’t often pull second lieutenants out of the field to act a society babysitter.”

Lena leaned back and smiled smugly. “It will be worth your while.” When her brother didn’t answer, she bent down and plucked a book from her bag, deftly opening it up to a pre-marked page, the sight of which made him lose all color in his face. “ _‘People say my sister is the beauty, the one whose hand will be fought over by many, but I know the real beauty sits beside her. I pretended not to watch earlier as they chatted and wound flowers in one another’s hair—the leftovers from the gardener’s outdoor beds—and enjoyed the day off from their studies. Primroses nearly as beautiful as she seemed to bloom from her braid of jet. Her fingers, delicate and brown like the aged bronze statuettes that sit in the halls, were deft as they plucked a flower from the pile and held it up to smell. Eyes of amber…’_ Stars in the sky, Sterling, I don’t know whether this is sweet or creepy.”

“Where’d you find that…?” he asked, his voice small and defeated.

“If you’re going to hide early teenaged trollop from the world, the last place you put it is under your mattress,” Lena sighed. “Listen, do this for me and you can have this back along with my pledge of silence. It will be our secret.”

Sterling stayed quiet, his eyes darting anxiously between his sister and his journal.

“…and you can use the house when you do finally gather the courage to court Oriana,” she chuckled. “That is if she doesn’t run the opposite direction.”

“Done,” he said. Sterling quickly stood up and snatched the journal from Lena’s hand, jamming it to safety against his chest. “When do we leave?”

“Midday. Don’t forget your journals—I need some entertainment on the journey, and who knows who will find them here.”

The young man grumbled as he left the tent; only _his sister_ , truly.

* * *

It was a clear afternoon when a cart drawn by a single draft horse came lazily up the drive that led to Jarlshall. A plainclothes-clad Grant glanced around as he kept the cart on the path, staring at the many trees and shrubs and flowers that surrounded his ride. He imagined he could appreciate a winter there, even if the Autumn colors were likely to soon mute and drift towards the ground. Without a mountain peak in sight, it was a different experience… one he imagined to be rather enjoyable.

When he rode up to the house, Grant saw that there were four young men waiting for him. Two were dressed in footmen’s livery, the third he assumed to be a stableman from how he went towards the horse, and the fourth, an immaculately-kept youth in military dress, whose face reminded him of his lady hostess.

“Hello there,” Grant said as he got out of the cart. The footmen went to take his things from the cart as he approached, though they did pause to marvel at his height and girth. “I am scheduled to interview here with the Marchioness Kasterborous and Gallifrey?”

“Hello,” the military lad echoed. Yes, Grant could see now that the young man before him had to be a couple years younger than himself. “I am Second Lieutenant Sterling Smith, the eldest of Lena’s younger brothers. You must be Lord Grant of Althos.”

“Just Grant, please,” he replied, shaking Sterling’s hand. “I don’t know what sort of job I’m here to interview for and ‘lord’ might not end up being very appropriate.” He followed Sterling inside the mansion and through the corridors. “What should I call you?”

“Sterling’s fine,” the younger man said. “I only wore the uniform because Lena would have made me anyhow; once I can leave the Border Forces I will, though I am still figuring out what to do afterwards… I guess that makes us a lot alike.”

“Unsure of the future?”

“…especially of one under my dear eldest sister’s thumb.”

“I heard that,” Lena said. She turned the corner ahead of them with a smirk on her face. She and Grant both bowed their heads at one another cordially. “Did the road treat you well?”

“Very well,” he said. “The closer I’ve come to Jarlshall, though, the more curious I am about the job I’ve been offered. Mind telling me what it is?”

“If you want, we can get the interview done with now,” she said.

“Okay, you two do that and I’ll be—” Sterling began. Lena cut him off, however, grabbing hold of his upper arm and refusing to let go.

“No, no, you stay with us, _obtrusive younger brother chaperone_ , and keep us honest,” she ordered gently. Sterling’s shoulders sank in defeat, as there was no arguing with his eldest sister once she had made up her mind. If there was one thing she had to get from _both_ their parents that he wished otherwise, it had to of been that.

Lena led the way as the trio went into an office on the ground floor where tea and snacks had been laid out for them. She dismissed the maid that was awaiting further orders, making it so that they were the only ones there. Once she pulled some notes from the desk drawer, she bade her brother and guest to both sit.

“Come, you must be famished,” she said to Grant. He took a sandwich and tea, though he didn’t have any of it. “Now, a few questions before we get into the meat of everything: how do you feel about this potentially being a permanent relocation?”

“I can still go visit, correct?” She nodded. “Then I don’t mind. Althos has already shown what she has to offer me—I do not hate it, and I could be happy there, but I could more likely be happy elsewhere. My nieces and nephew will be upset for a while, but visits make that easier to deal with.”

“Good; so then nothing tying you down there such as a job or paramour?”

“You know my job and I last courted two years ago with a serdar’s daughter. She wanted a fling before marriage; I didn’t like that.”

“It is reassuring to know that you’re serious.” Lena shuffled through her notes and pulled a specific set to the top. “Now then, you are fine with deferring power to a woman? It would not be an issue for me being your liege marchioness despite having brothers?”

“Having a liege marchioness would be a decent change of pace.”

“Good, good; now, how attracted are you to me, phy—”

Lena was cut off by Sterling choking on his tea. He sputtered and hacked until his throat was clear, after which he stared wide-eyed at his sister.

“Stars in the sky, Lena! Should I be here?!” he asked, voice hoarse from choking.

“Yes, but I never said you should listen in,” she replied. She then turned her attention back to Grant, who was taking a steadying sip of tea. “Again, how attracted are you to me, physically, emotionally, however you see it?”

“What does that have to do with me interviewing for a _job_?” he wondered.

“The position you are interviewing for is Earl Consort, do keep up,” she said blithely. “For a third time, _are you_ , or did the serdar’s daughter turn you off to women?”

“You are…” he affirmed. Grant’s eyes flicked towards Sterling, who was still red in the face and seemed just as caught off-guard as he was, and was back at Lena. “Do we have to talk about this while your brother’s here?”

“Sterling, outside, but close enough to see us,” she ordered. Her brother went without a word, taking his tea and a sandwich with him. Once he was out the glass door, she smiled at her guest. “A bit shy?”

“More like I don’t think I should go through this sort of conversation with someone’s _brother_ around,” he replied. “I _do_ find you highly attractive, for the record. Physically and… gods… I find you attractive, Gallifrey, _this_ …” He gestured at the room, a bit taken aback by it all. “I just wasn’t aware that if anything _was_ to happen between the two of us—which I thought was a long-shot, by the way—it would be this soon.”

“I don’t have the luxury of being coy about such matters,” she said. “My family’s nature turns many people away very quickly. We try to be understanding in governance and law, but we are rather blunt about our stances on childrearing and inheritance, amongst other things, and it irks some of the more tradition-minded individuals in society, allowing them to display their stubbornness and backward ways of thinking.”

“Childrearing…?” He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“Yes—Papa and Mama did not step down because they were getting too old or incompetent, but because they wished to raise my sister’s children the way they raised theirs: hands-on. Should we find that this interview could lead to a successful marriage, our issue would be raised by them as well as us. We have no need for governesses in Castle Gallifrey.”

“Well, I do enjoy when I am in charge of my brothers’ children…”

“Excellent.” Lena smiled and sipped some tea while checking off a couple points in pencil. She then glanced back at Grant, seeing that his face had fallen. “Yes…?”

“What is ‘successful’ to you?” he asked. “We might have different ideas about that.”

“In our way of life, long as a couple can tolerate one another a marriage can be deemed a success,” she admitted. “I would prefer to be at least friends, if that’s the most we can take things. I grew up with parents that were not only an arranged marriage, but were and still are each other’s loving and doting paramours. My grandfather, Lord Blackpoole, had brokered a marriage to his second wife, but they are civil at best, so I know both sides of the mercurial coin called society marriage.” She looked at Grant and watched as he put down his tea. “We have the entire winter season, including what remains in Autumn and some of Spring, to talk more extensively and decide on whether or not to make things official. Does that sound a bit better?”

“…and what if we decide that _we_ won’t work?”

“Then I will see what I can do about making a place for you in my counsel—I was genuine about wanting a highborn southern man’s opinion as well as my brother-in-law’s. You deserve options in your life better than which bear to wrestle while destroying your body before your life really begins, and I want to offer that.”

Grant considered her words, glancing behind Lena to see Sterling leaning against a tree with his tea and sandwich. “A chance like this is never going to come up again; let us see where this Winter brings us. If it is nowhere, then we cannot say we didn’t try.” He then took a bite of sandwich while contemplating. “I suppose if there is any way to make it so that one gets the worst side of a person and their family, it is by staying through a northern winter.”

“Excellent,” Lena grinned. She put her notes down and stood, holding out her hand. Grant stood and shook it, though he was more confused than anything. “It is agreed. Now, let me talk to the head of house for a moment; we leave for Gallifrey the morning after next.” She then left the room, which prompted Sterling to poke his head back in through the open glass door.

“…and…?” he asked in trepidation.

“It sounds like we might become brothers,” Grant replied, slightly breathless. “Your sister… is she always like that?”

“This one? Yes, unfortunately,” Sterling sighed. “She’s a terror; even if I was Papa and Mama’s heir instead of her, she wouldn’t go and simply give it to me knowing that she was first in line before I existed.”

“Commanding, forceful, confident, a marvelously quick brain, and a fair beauty to boot…” He looked at Sterling and laughed awkwardly. “I’m done for, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Sterling nodded. He patted Grant on the arm in condolence, not wanting to think about the implications of what just happened and what they would lead towards. “You might want to consider having a bath and getting into something comfortable—you’ll need your rest if Lena makes us leave soon.”

“You know better than I do.”


	47. A Summer Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following takes place nearly a year after the events of Chapter 39: The Union.
> 
> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 73, Clara at 54, Olivier at 29, Lena at 23, Astra (and the unseen Tara) nearly 21, Sterling at 17, Maglina at 15, and Seren at 9.

The midsummer morning was cool and bright, comfortable enough to nearly allow the citizens of Gallifrey to forget the heat that would be upon them that afternoon. It was the sort of calm which put Lord Johan Lonan, Marquis Kasterborous and Gallifrey, on-edge, and it was nowhere as obvious as at the breakfast table. Fidgety and cantankerous, he gave off the air of someone who truly did not wish to be bothered by anything or anyone, despite the fact his beloved wife and four of his children were at the table with him.

“We need to prepare for a heat wave—I can feel it in my bones,” he scowled into his tea. It was lukewarm—the hottest he could take it that day—and the taste made him nearly want to cringe.

“Karn had a snowy winter, so there should be no doubt about the river and reservoir’s reserves,” Lena reminded him dully. She picked at her eggs, not entirely feeling like eating. “Any lack of rain should be supplemented by the fact the warmth would take its toll on the mountains as well, giving us more melt, even if the heat we have here is enough to dry the wells normally… or did you forget that while listening to your bones?”

“I have not, starlet,” he frowned, “though I can sense something ominous approaching, and we are due for a heatwave.” He stabbed a piece of fruit with his fork and ate it slowly, glad it was still cold. “What do you think, dearest?”

“…that you are overreacting to _something_ ,” the Marchioness deadpanned. “Lena is correct though—if things become bad enough to create a drought, we can open the irrigation tunnels and divert some of the river flow, making it…” She was accidentally cut off by the butler bringing in the morning post, apologetically offering her an envelope on a platter. After thanking him, she opened it and read the contents whilst most of the remaining members of her family received their various correspondences. She waited until the butler was out of the room before glancing around the table excitedly. “It appears as though Astra and Olly return next week!”

“Really?!” Seren gasped, overjoyed. “I wonder when I can stay over at Sladen House!”

“Give them a chance to settle in before becoming a bother,” the Marquis scolded gently. He gave his youngest son a wink, however, which caused the boy to stifle a giggle. “Do they say anything of their plans for when they return?”

“Unpack, rest, and oversee the branch’s startup, mostly.”

“Olly said that he was going to end up occupying two offices: one in Gallifrey with the other near the estate,” Lena mentioned. “I imagine that he will have plenty of back and forth between the two, at least to start.”

“Speaking of,” Sterling piped up, “I was wondering if I could take Seren with me when I go and check on the new office for Olly. We both have the day off from our studies, and it will be a good change of scenery for him.”

“That depends on how much you need to check,” the Marchioness said.

“Not much—Olly had sent me a copy of the building plans and some instructions for what he wants to have done,” Sterling explained. “It is brand-new construction, and it seems to be going according to plan so far. As long as _someone_ checks in, it is fine, but a direct member of the governing family who is also related to the man commissioning the work makes it so that no one would _dare_ cheat on anything. I usually go by myself on days off, though I think it would be good to have someone else with me today.”

“Oooh! That sounds like fun! Can I go?! Papa?! Mama?!” Seren pleaded. His eyes nearly seemed to inflate as he silently begged, which only made his parents chuckle.

“As long as Papa doesn’t have anything planned,” the Marchioness said.

“I don’t see why not,” the Marquis added.

Seren cheered and quickly gulped down his tea so he could dash from the room and prepare for the day ahead. His parents and siblings could only shake their heads at his enthusiasm and energy, wondering where it all came from.

“Good,” Maglina said. “At least this means that Ori and I will be able to get some work done. He never seems to go away when we need to study seriously.”

“Just wait until it’s your own children,” the Marchioness warned through a snicker. “Any time your papa and I have gotten to ourselves in the past twenty-three years has been little short of a miracle.”

“…yet you still managed to give me five siblings,” Lena said. “You clearly found at least _some_ time.”

“More than you know,” the Marchioness replied, throwing the Marquis a sultry glance across the table. The children all squirmed in disgust, not wanting to imagine the thought of their parents in an intimate setting, though it was too late and they would be stuck with the unsolicited image for days.

* * *

Sterling scribbled down the last of his notes on his pad of paper and nodded at the construction manager next to him. “It looks good, thank you—Mister Peladon-Lakertya will be pleased.” He shook the woman’s hand, glad that he would soon be leaving.

“I do hope so,” she replied. She then motioned towards the door, which was over on the other side of the large hall they were in, which was still littered with scaffolding and building supplies. “May I see the Young Lords out?”

“No, that won’t be necessary, thank you,” he said. Sterling then glanced across the room, over to where Seren was watching people plaster walls. “Time to go!”

“…but _Sterling_!”

“We need to get to Sladen House, write down the report, and return home before dinner,” the elder brother warned. Seren groaned in frustration before reluctantly complying.

The brothers went outside and hopped on their horses, walking them towards the Sladen Estate. In the year’s time since Olivier had purchased the manor and its lands, the entire place seemed to have transformed with a new breath of life. Gardeners were prepping the grounds, stablehands hand farmers were caring forvarious animals, and house staff could be seen at nearly every turn, opening windows, shaking out rugs, and cleaning furniture in the open air.

“Ah, good to see you again, Young Lord Sterling—and you brought your brother this time too,” the house butler said cheerily once he saw the visitors. He waited until the brothers dismounted their rides and passed the reins over to a stablehand before leaving his post over the house staff to greet them. “Do you have the report for Mister Lakertya-Peladon?”

“I do,” Sterling affirmed, holding up his notes.

“It was interesting seeing a building not-finished!” Seren added. “Olly and Astra are going to love it!”

“Good!” the butler chuckled. “Why don’t you go inspect the gardens while your lord brother writes his notes in the ledger? An honest opinion would be helpful.”

“Leave it to me!” the young boy said proudly. He scampered off, allowing Sterling to head into the house and find the room set aside for Olivier’s private office unencumbered. The ledger concerning the new building was precisely where he left it, making quick work of copying his notes. Sterling was glad he agreed to help with the project, even if it had been plenty of extra work and learning thus far; any work experience was good experience for him at the moment, since he was still unsure of what to do come the following summer and the end of his compulsory studies.

Sterling replaced the ledger and found the front of the house again. Instead of leaving, however, he found Olivier and Astra in the main hall, directing staff on where to put the things they had brought with them from Rhylls.

“Astra! Olly!” he grinned. The teen greeted his sister and brother-in-law with tight hugs, glad to see them. “Mama received a letter this morning saying you were about a week away yet!”

“It must have been delayed,” Astra figured with a frown. “I sent that with plenty of time to get here.”

“Doesn’t matter; we’re home now,” Olivier said. He looked around the hall, nearly as though he could barely believe it. “We really are home.”

“You’re back!” Seren gasped from the doorway suddenly. He ran to Astra and Olivier, bouncing in excitement, and jumped into his new brother’s arms. “I missed you two! Never stay away that long again!”

“It was only a bit less than a year,” Astra reminded him. She hugged her baby brother and ruffled his hair, stopping when she noticed a sudden change in his demeanor. “What’s the matter?”

“You feel different,” he said, intensely confused. “Why do you feel so different? Is it because you were in Rhylls?”

Although it was subtle, Sterling noticed Olivier and Astra both stare at Seren in something akin to panic. He watched as they exchanged a glance before turning their attention back to the boy.

“A little,” she said, “though we really should be with everyone before we talk about our time away.”

“I never get to know anything first,” Seren pouted.

“You knew Astra accepted my proposal before anyone else,” Olivier reminded him. “Don’t worry—we can have a good visit soon enough. We do owe you a sleepover, yeah?”

“Yeah! You do!” Seren said, immediately perking up. “When will that be?”

“If you give us a little bit, we can go back to Castle Gallifrey with you and find out.”

“Okay!” Seren then began to look through the boxes and chests that were scattered about the hall. Sterling, on the other hand…

“What’s the matter?” he asked, making sure his voice was low enough so that only they heard. “You gave each other a _look_ …”

“Nothing’s _wrong_ ,” Astra defended. “We truly just want to be with everyone before we start discussing how things have been while we were gone.”

“You’re acting like you’re hiding something.”

“Now we’re—stars! Seren! What the…?!” Astra panicked when she saw her youngest brother approaching with her _corset_ , of all the things, in his hands.

“I took care of finding this for you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Mama says that it’s easier to travel without one, but Rhyllish food must be too heavy or something, because you never had a tummy before, even a little one, and Mama says corsets help with that.”

Sterling instantly knew what was going on and, in an effort to divert attention away from their sister, smacked the back of his brother’s head just hard enough for the boy to feel it. “Seren! It’s rude to say things like that! I’d like to see how you do at the end of a cross-country trip—you wouldn’t want to wear one either!” He did have to give it to Astra and her flowing Rhyllish dress though, for it hid things well. “Now what do you say?”

“Sorry, Astra,” Seren muttered, eyes turned to the floor. Their sister only laughed and ruffled his hair.

“It’s alright; let’s take some fresh horses from the stable and see how Mama and Papa are doing. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see us.” She passed the corset to an amused maid and ushered the boy out of the house. Sterling joined them as they went to see the horses, and Olivier did as well once he was finished giving instruction to the butler and head housemaid concerning the trip’s luggage. They mounted the horses and slowly walked them back towards Gallifrey, Seren animatedly describing the year’s events as they went.

Before long, the small group was back behind the city walls, with clouds tinted green and yellow across the violet horizon. They entered the castle grounds and left the horses in the care of the stables, Seren pulling Astra through the corridors of their ancestral in an attempt to find their parents quick as possible. The rest of the family was sitting in the lounge, everyone waiting for the cook to send word that dinner was ready and plates would be saved for the young lords. Soon as the sisters saw one another, though, they ran towards one another, Lena and Maglina both enveloping Astra in a tight hug.

“I missed you!” Maglina sniffled, clinging longer than Lena. Astra kissed the top of her youngest sister’s head, nearly ready to cry.

“I missed you too,” she said. By then their parents had approached them and she moved on towards them. “Mama, Papa, it’s good to be back.”

“It’s good to have you, sweetheart,” the Marchioness replied. She gave her daughter a hug and stepped aside, watching her husband carefully as it was his turn.

“Great to see you, starlet,” the Marquis smiled gently. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, only for his eyes to go wide and his brows raise; his mind had brushed against hers, just as it had since she was a child, yet this time there was a new presence that he accidentally bumped against… one that made his eyes well up in joy.

“Johan…?” the Marchioness wondered. She put a hand on his arm, calling his attention to her. “Johan, she wasn’t even gone a year.”

“…yet our owlet has returned to the nest with more than just her husband.” He held his daughter’s face and kissed her brow. Tears dripped into his whiskers as he choked up, unable to say another word.

“Does this mean what I think it does?” the Marchioness asked, her own eyes inflating. Astra nodded, which caused her mother to hug her again happily.

“What’s going on?” Seren wondered. He looked around at everyone, rather upset there were no answers as to why greetings were so suddenly derailed. “I don’t get it.”

“Your sister is going to have a baby,” his father explained. He bent down and put a hand on his youngest’s shoulder to make sure he was alright. “She shall be a mama and you shall be an uncle…” He glanced at Astra, who was already being barraged with questions and hugs by mother and sisters.

“…the Violet Sky, _Grandpapa_ ,” she chuckled. “The physician in Rhylls said the baby should be born around then.”

“Most likely between your birthday and midwinter,” Olivier explained to his youngest brother-in-law. “You’ll be ten then—can we trust you to be a good uncle and help teach the baby all there is to being a kid in Kasterborous and Gallifrey? I’m afraid I don’t have much experience with that.”

“Yes!” Seren agreed. He looked at his sister, then back towards her husband. “She doesn’t look like she’s going to have a baby.”

“It’s still very small,” Olivier said. “The baby won’t be big enough to notice for a months or two yet, though Astra’s corset is already too tight on her thanks to how big it is already.”

Seren stared at his sister, his brow furrowed like their father’s often became, and tried to imagine her as a mother. It was not difficult due to all the things that she had done for him over the years, though something about it seemed _wrong_ somehow.

“What will the child call you?” the Marquis asked Olivier. The younger man beamed at that, as though he was still getting used to the idea.

“I know Oriana calls her parents Mum and Dad, and I think that’s great that they’re keeping that, but I would much rather Astra and I be Mama and Papa.”

“You don’t want to be ‘Dad’?” Lena wondered, overhearing him. “Wouldn’t you want to do better by the title than what you grew up with?”

“The more I thought about it, the less comfortable it became,” he admitted sheepishly. “Our child will still have a gran and grunkle on my side, but I still prefer ‘Papa’ for myself.” He was clearly embarrassed by the way his skin flushed and he turned his gaze towards nothing. The less he could be reminded of his absent father, the better.

“It doesn’t matter what you’re called; what matters is that you are the best parents you can be,” the Marchioness said. She held Olivier at arm’s length, looking him in the eyes. “Just like with marriage, you saw what not to do first-hand as you grew. I have little doubt that you have the makings of a fine dad and a doting papa, just as I am certain you are a loving husband.”

“You… you really mean that…?”

“I would have never allowed you to marry my daughter so easily if I didn’t,” she replied. The Marchioness hugged Olivier as he began to choke back tears. Though her words did not surprise him, it was stunning to hear all the same, as no one had yet bothered to claim his fears unfounded.

He and Astra were going to be _parents_.

* * *

That night, as the castle lulled itself to sleep, there were two members of the governing family that were still wide awake. The Marquis paced around his quarters as his wife sat up in bed reading, the man nearly threatening to wear a spot in the rug.

“You’re overreacting,” the Marchioness said dully, never even looking away from her page.

“Clara, _our_ _daughter_ is preparing to bring a life into this world—possibly the first of many—and you do not seem the least bit worried!”

“I am too worried.”

“Yes; sitting there reading your tripe makes you seem so anxious you could scream.”

The Marchioness rolled her eyes and grunted in irritation at what she knew was the severe end of her husband’s personality. “At least I am able to control myself—look at you, acting as though she’s been given only days to live—you’re being ridiculous.”

“You know my concerns are not unfounded,” he muttered, knowing she was correct.

“…and you know that she is young, strong, and healthy; our daughter could birth ten children before the age I was when I had the first of our _six_.” Peeking at her husband over her spectacles, she watched him fret silently throughout the room. “Come to bed, Johan.”

“I am still too awake,” he claimed.

“…because you are worrying yourself into a stupor,” she warned. She closed her book, setting it and her spectacles atop the nightstand. “Not all women can, and not all who can _do_ , but most women are capable of handling carrying a child to-term without harm to them or the child.”

“…and not only am I a father, but I am now soon to be a _grandfather_ , meaning my worry has doubled.” He sat down on the edge of the mattress next to his wife, taking her hand in both of his. “I am still not ready for any of our stars to be another’s moon, but to have starlets of their own…?”

“It only means there are more stars for _our sky_ with the addition of grandchildren,” she reasoned. “It is only natural to worry, but it is also so to be completely enamored when our child lays their child in our arms for the first time.” The Marchioness exhaled as the Marquis lifted her hand to his lips for a tender kiss, using her free hand to caress his face. His eyes were rimmed in red and filled with tears and it nearly broke her hearts. “Come lay with me, Moon of My Sky. Hold me and remember the night we renewed our vows, for I am more certain of my devotion for you now than I was even then. Our grandchild being born into such a loving, large family will be proof of that.”

With tears finally escaping his eyes and flowing freely, the Marquis leaned forward and kissed his wife, too emotional to reply with words. The kiss deepened and he indeed joined her in bed with wandering hands and deft fingers, lavishing her with a love and devotion that had also grown since the night of their second wedding bed. His actions clarified his thoughts: the fact they were to be grandparents did not mean that they were to set aside their desires, nor did it mean that they found themselves less drawn to one another. He made her gasp silently to the dark, red night and she made him whimper in the bedding, knowing full-well that down the corridor, their daughter and her husband chastely slept together in her old room, unaware of what was taking place.


	48. The Job Orientation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following takes place after The Job Offer and The Job Interview.
> 
> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 75, Clara at 56, Lena at 25, Astra at 23, Grant at 22, Sterling at 19, and Jasper is edging close to 2.

It was midafternoon by the time Lena, Sterling, and Grant made their way behind Gallifrey’s sturdy city walls. Whilst Sterling dashed off with a promise that he would return around dinnertime, Grant stuck close to Lena after they deposited their horses in the stables and she began to give him a guided partial tour of Castle Gallifrey.

“It’s so quiet in here,” he noted carefully as they walked through the corridors. “From the size of the city, I would have thought it would be bustling inside as well.”

“She is a fickle creature, my ancestral home,” Lena chuckled. “Today she is calm, yet tomorrow could bring such a different atmosphere it would nearly be as though they were two separate places.” She put her hand on the exposed stone of a column and glanced back at him. “How does it compare to Althos?”

“So far? At least we’re not hanging on the side of a cliff, the surrounding area seems to be easily navigable, and nobody gives a second thought as to who I am,” Grant replied. He went towards the column and leaned on it as well, regarding his hostess curiously. “No one approached to bother you while we were on our way here—why is that?”

“The people know that if their grievances are given to the correct channels, they shall be heard. None of this mobbing the local ruler nonsense that I hear about in other areas of the kingdom for Kasterborous and Gallifrey; I want better than that for high, middling, and baseborn alike.”

“No grumblings…?”

“If there are, only the ones doing the grumbling are to blame for not acting on their problems,” she said. They then continued walking down the corridor, wandering almost aimlessly. “If you take this job, part of your duties shall be hearing these grievances and grumblings. You won’t have to legislate but you shall have to make yourself known and the law and people known to you.”

“I have the winter to study and prepare; it won’t be an overwhelming start.” It was then that he noticed a tiny figure scurry around the corner ahead, stopping in its tracks to see who was down the corridor.

“Auntie Lena!” Jasper gasped. The little boy ran up to his aunt and jumped into her arms, thrilled to see her. “You back!”

“Yes, I am,” she chuckled. “Where is your mama?”

“I’m coming, Lena,” Astra called from around the corner. She saw the stranger next to her sister and raised her eyebrows, seemingly impressed at his presence. “You must be the Althosian Lena was writing me about. I’m Lady Astra Peladon-Lakertya.”

“It’s an honor, milady,” Grant replied. He waited until Astra was close by before bowing, being cut off before he could properly introduce himself.

“Mama, who this?” Jasper wondered, wiggling out of Lena’s grasp and dropping to the floor. His brown eyes grew wide as he leaned back to look at the tall stranger. Grant bent down on one knee to be closer to the child, though he still towered over him.

“I’m Grant, and I am a friend of your Auntie Lena’s,” he explained. “She said I could spend the winter here; I’ve never seen a northern winter.”

“Liar—Auntie Lena no friends! Auntie Lena pudding brains!”

“ _Jasper Antoine_ ,” Astra hissed, making her son recoil.

“But Mama!”

“Auntie Lena _does_ have friends, just not very many,” she corrected. “Now apologize.”

“Sorry Mr. Grant, Auntie Lena.”

“ _Lord_ Grant,” Lena explained gently. “His papa is a baronet, which makes him a lord.”

“Okay! Sorry Lord Grant!” Jasper said. He stared up and the man and tilted his head curiously. “How tall?”

“Very,” he chuckled. “Would you like to see how tall?”

“Yes!”

At that, Grant picked up Jasper and placed him on his shoulders before standing straight. The little boy clung for dear life, shrieking in joy at how high he suddenly found himself. He squirmed slightly, though Grant held him in place by his shins.

“You don’t have to show him extra attention if you don’t want to,” Astra frowned. “He really is getting spoiled…”

“My brothers already gave me two nieces and a nephew, and I don’t think they’re done—children are not a problem for me,” Grant replied. He did a tiny hop in his spot, which made Jasper gasp and giggle in excitement. “See, milady? I have plenty of practice.”

“Astra, please, since we will be seeing much of one another this winter thanks to my elder sister,” she replied. “Any friend of Lena’s is a friend of mine.”

“New friend!” Jasper squealed. He hugged Grant’s head as the man bent forward, bringing the boy down to his mother. Astra took her son back into her arms and balanced him on her hip.

“Just think of how he will be as a _b-r-o-t-h-e-r_ next year,” she said, spelling out the word she did not need her son to hear yet.

“What that?” Jasper asked.

“You will find out soon enough,” Grant chuckled before turning back to Astra. “Congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you, but save that for when they’re both grown and not killing one another; then we’ll talk,” she laughed awkwardly. The three adults were now walking down the corridor, headed towards the family’s quarters. “Did the two of you just get in? I thought Sterling was with you.”

“He scampered away, embarrassed that he’s even here instead of on the front,” Lena said nonchalantly. “Definitely expect him back for good next summer—he hasn’t told me as much, but I get the feeling that’s what shall happen.”

“Well, if you stop taking him from his job…” Astra began. She stopped suddenly when she saw Lord Johan and Lady Clara emerge from their chambers. They both paused in surprise at seeing a stranger in the private wing alongside their daughters and grandson, and approached the group with caution.

“Lena, it’s good to see you back so soon,” Lady Clara said, giving her eldest a hug. She then took Jasper from Astra, not needing to look behind her to know that her husband was glowering at the group before them. “And who are you, young man? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Mama, Papa, this is Lord Grant Balder Althos, Baronet Althos’s youngest son, and he is going to stay the winter with us,” Lena said. Grant shook Lady Clara’s hand with a bow, though Lord Johan simply continued to stare.

“Althos? That’s a long ways off,” Lady Clara noted. “At least the mountains are colder than most places in the southern lands, so you won’t be caught too off-guard by our weather. Where did you two meet, may I ask?”

“Malebolgia, milady,” Grant replied. “We became friends during the hunting party; you raised an astute and kind daughter, who is much better company than what I am used to.”

“My husband and I did our best,” she smiled. “Not that I’m opposed, but what is the occasion for you to stay for such a long time? Change of scenery?”

“We are using the winter as a trial period for courting, so to speak,” Lena explained. “If things go well, we shall be wed by this time next year.”

“Lena, study, **_now_** ,” Lord Johan scowled, fluffing out his cape. He slunk into the family’s study, leaving the door open for her to follow.

“You might want to go, dear,” Lady Clara suggested. “Don’t worry—Astra and I will take care of your guest while you are… detained.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Lena said with a nod. She went into the study and closed the door behind her, putting on her lady’s mask as she faced her father.

“Courting?” he asked gruffly. He put his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to the heels. “Since when?”

“The day before last,” she said.

“That’s not very long.”

“We talked for a bit at the earl’s hunting party and I calculated the risks involved—there is a good chance that he shall put aside that silly bear wrestling his father has him doing in order to be my consort and father my heir.”

“Lena, I expressly forbid it,” Lord Johan hissed. He then began pacing the room, unable to stay still. “You are not in love with him—what if you fall for a man who is not your husband one day?! I purposely refused to broker a marriage contract for you as a child in order to avoid that fate! Don’t throw that away on a whim!”

“You gave up the ability to ‘ _expressly forbid_ ’ a **_thing_** the day you and Mama put aside your coronets to care for Jasper,” she scowled. “Grant is more than capable—”

“I never said anything of his ability, simply your hearts.”

“…and I am the head of this family now, whether you want to admit it or not, and I feel as though this is the best option that can possibly be presented to me,” she replied, her voice increasingly acidic. “The freedom you gave me is now my prison and the way I see it, Grant is the one holding the jailer’s keys. There is a spark between us, Papa, and if that is short-lived, then at least we are friends and I am not married to a pudding-brained sack of meat. He has intellect, manners, and respect for me—all qualities I rarely see in highborn men at the same time shining on the surface as well as behind their own masks.” She saw her father’s whiskers twitch in irritation and she could barely contain her ire. “If you have an issue with it, then you can see how well you do wrenching the coronet back without causing a cursed coup! I need no one’s permission _or_ approval concerning whom I meet on the wedding platform, and all I ask is that you at least _act_ as though you have faith in this choice as you have with all my others!”

“You are acting childish.”

“I am acting the best I can, especially considering the circumstances I’ve found myself in over the past twenty-five years! Freedom is a blessing until it turns into a curse; do you really want me to rely on _Astra_ for my heirs? Should I adopt her second-born as my own?”

“You do not know that!”

“It’s become a very real possibility and you would see that if you opened your eyes for once and saw what was in front of you!”

“I know what I see, and I see my eldest daughter stomping her foot because she is too impatient with the world to remember the gifts her parents gave her and fought hard to protect,” he snapped.  “You don’t care about Althos, which could mean a feud or worse down the line if a marriage turns sour, and, well, I doubt you have considered that he might be a strapping bear-wrestler now, but give him ten years away from the ring and he will be more than soft around his middle.”

“Tch; you talk as if that would bother me,” she scoffed. “He has the physique of a man that can move a mountain, and will be able to even when he has gone to seed. Besides, Grandmamma Donata was not a waifish creature and I could take after her once I start bearing children. We can’t all be lucky like Astra… and she might not be all that lucky herself if she and Olly keep having more…”

“That is enough; I will hear no more of this.”

“You _will_ hear what your marchioness has to say, and she has decided that, should this trial prove successful, she will travel to Althos after the thaw, broker a marriage contract, and plan on being wed at the turning of next year’s leaves. If you have concrete evidence as to why he is not the appropriate man for the job, you have until then to present it.”

Without letting him get in another word, she stormed out of the study, stomping her way out of the family’s area.

“Grant, I’ll show you to your room in the guest wing; follow me.”

“Uh… okay,” he said. He gave Astra and Lady Clara a nervous glance before following Lena, cautiously remaining silent until they went into the guest wing and entered a suite where his luggage already sat due to the time they spent on the partial castle tour. “Lena…? Is it alright for me to stay here? I can stay at Jarlshall for a time if your papa needs it… or even go back home…”

“No; you are perfectly welcome here,” she replied stiffly. Her arms and back were straight as boards, with her fists balled tight enough to nearly draw blood where her nails dug into her palms. “Papa is simply going to have to get used to the idea, is all. He doesn’t see the position I’m in, only the position he has attempted to keep me out of, and everything _will_ be fine before year’s end.”

“I get the impression he doesn’t like me already.”

“It’s not you he doesn’t like; it’s the situation. I’m certain that if the circumstances were more to his liking he’d adore you.” She kept her eyes towards the rug, her body beginning to shake. Grant placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to console her, although it only made her tremble more, and tears began to flow from her eyes.

“Lena…?”

“No, it’s alright—I think I just need to be alone.”

Her voice was watery and she ended the sentence on a sniffle, which Grant knew would never do if his new probationary position was Earl Consort. Gods—even being her _counsel_ meant that her in such a state was not an option. Before she could turn to leave, he picked Lena up and carried her over to the window seat, sitting down while placing her in his lap in order to hold her gently. He chuckled at how tight she clung to him, as well as the surprise that was on her face.

“Being alone right now isn’t always a good thing,” he said. “If you keep too much inside, it will only destroy you in the end.”

“Some people need to be alone, though,” she muttered.

“This is true for some, yes, but I doubt that’s what you need, at least all the time.”

“…why do you say that?”

He chuckled at that, “You’re still here.” He gently kissed the top of her hair—chaste yet inviting. “If you really needed to be alone, why would you still be clinging to my coat?”

“You have nice coats in Althos,” Lena muttered. She turned her face so that she hid her embarrassment in his chest. “Do you know the fabric? I might have the tailor look into it.”

“Our local mountain goathair, milady, nothing more,” Grant replied. He tucked her head beneath his chin and glanced out the window at the brilliantly-painted sky as blue began to set into red. It was not the best way to start out in a far-away part of the kingdom, yet it was a start all the same.

* * *

Lord Johan watched his eldest daughter stomp out of the study, gaping at the lack of regard she was affording him. He stood there in a state of half shock, fuming until his wife entered the room alone, wearing an expression of utmost concern.

“Johan…?” She approached him cautiously, as he was still visibly agitated, and wrapped her arms around his middle. His hands found her back first, then her shoulder and waist; Lady Clara stroked his back as he folded into her embrace, keeping him calm whilst processing the information he was just given.

“What is the _matter_ with her, Clara?” he whispered hoarsely. “None of our children are self-absorbed people… Lena’s mind is narrower than it has ever been. How did this happen?”

“We can only guide them so far, dear,” she said. She carefully led him over to the settee and placed him down on the leather surface. Once she was sitting as well, he leaned down and placed his head in her lap, curling his legs up in the remainder of the cushions while she stroked his hair and face. “What did she tell you?”

“That the gift we fought so hard to give her is a curse—how is being able to wed the one you love such a terrible thing?”

“It’s because she’s so _alone_ , Johan,” Lady Clara explained. “We raised her to be the marchioness and Doctor worthy of succeeding us, not someone’s wife. In that regard, I have to say that she’s right: we failed her.”

“Our _eldest_ … our _heir_ …”

“…and the product of our mistakes, no matter how well-meaning we meant to be over the years, because only in hindsight do the questions of parenting often become clear.” She leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose; her chest pressed against the side of his head and her hand reached to hold one of his. He lifted his free hand up to stroke her hair, keeping her folded against him. “She is your daughter, you know.”

“Yours as well.”

“True, yet there is no stubbornness quite like your own.”

“You have me there,” he chuckled. Lord Johan let go of his wife and she sat up straight again, gazing down at him with as much devotion as he used to regard her. “I am stubborn, arrogant, idiotic, and a polarizing force. Some were glad to see me step down in favor of my daughter, while others mourned. I simply want to know one thing after all is said and done.”

“…and what is that?”

“I might not have always been a good man, but was I at least a kind one?”

“Yes,” she assured him. “Frustrated as our daughter is right now, she knows it was all because you were doing your best to be kind, even if she doesn’t realize it.”

“I hope so,” he said. He shifted so that he stared straight up at her, marveling in his fortunes. “What did I do to deserve your good graces?”

“The very thing you want to be remembered for: _kindness_.”

He brought her knuckles to his lips and tenderly laid a kiss on them. Only His Clara.


	49. The Thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was recently suggested to me as a prompt, but I had long-before concocted how a chapter version would go, so it's here instead of in the prompt fills.
> 
> Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 73, Clara at 54, Olivier at 29, Lena at 23, Astra/Tara at 21, Sterling at 17, Maglina at 15, and Seren just turning 10.

It was a chilly morning as Seren happily popped awake. He looked out the window to see that snow was lightly falling against mauve clouds—it was the _perfect_ start to his birthday.

Scrambling out of bed, he made his way over to the wardrobe and plucked out the clothes he had chosen the night before already, carefully assembled to make himself look the best a lad could on his tenth birthday. The only thing that would have made the day better, he thought, was if Astra's baby had not kicked him out of the nursery before it was even born. He knew that he was supposed to be celebrating the start of his last year in the nursery, not preparing it for when some tiny monster plopped out of his sister. That was neither here nor there though, for nothing could take away the fact that it was his _birthday_ , and that he was going to celebrate the way he wanted.

Once he was dressed, Seren checked himself over in the mirror before exiting the bedroom, doing his best to not run down the corridor to his parents' quarters. He found them being gross again—as they often were, if he was honest—kissing and cuddling as they laid together in bed. Clearing his throat, he watched as his father turned his head to look at him, brows furrowed in irritation.

"Don't you have breakfast to eat?" the Marquis asked. Seren watched as his father descended upon his mother's neck again, with her making a noise in reply that caused him to squirm.

"…but I always begin my birthdays with both of you," Seren stated. "It's not the same unless I am with my mama and papa."

"He has a point, Johan—let's give him this," the Marchioness said breathlessly. After another aroused squeak and swatting her husband away from underneath the bedding, she left the bed and slipped her robe on over her nightdress. She kissed her youngest on the brow and gave him the best smile she could muster. "Now how's that? Better?"

"Yes, Mama," the boy beamed. He followed her over to the settee and snuggled into her side as she sat, glad that he could still fit for a while longer yet. That quickly ended when his father found his own robe and crossed the room, picking up the Marchioness before sitting down hard on the settee. Seren had to scurry away before he was crushed under the weight of both parents, something he felt was intensely deliberate on his father's part.

"Good to see you, starlet—now head off to breakfast," the Marquis said.

"Papa! It's my _birthday_!"

"Yes, and you _are_ out of the nursery," he reminded the lad. He buried his nose in the crook of his wife's neck indignantly, hoping that his youngest would leave if he refused to end his monopoly on the Marchioness for a while longer. "Mama and Papa still have some time to spend together."

"…but _Papa_!"

Just then, a courier knocked on the door and poked his head into the bedchamber. "Pardon my intrusion, my liege Doctors, but I have a message from Sladen House."

"Come in, come in," the Marchioness insisted. She stood and pulled her robe tighter as the stranger walked in and handed her an envelope before leaving. The Marquis pulled her back down into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist as she opened the letter.

"What does it say, Mama?" Seren asked. The boy watched as his mother's eyes grew wide and tear-filled, which bothered him immensely. "Mama…? Are you alright…?"

"Yes, sweetie," she replied. The Marchioness put her hand over her mouth as she attempted not to cry. She turned her gaze towards her husband and nearly burst. "I do believe we have a child to visit, _Grandpapa_."

"Already…?" the Marquis breathed. He took hold of the letter and read it himself—it was in Astra's hand, which did more to set his mind at-ease than anything else. "Stars, we do. Seren, get your brother and sisters; we are making a call to Sladen House."

"…but _Papa_ … my _birthday_ …"

"We shall celebrate when we return," he promised. "Right now," he picked up the Marchioness as he stood, twirling around in a fit of glee, "we need to see the newest member of the family."

* * *

After gathering the remainder of their children, the Marquis and Marchioness piled the family into a carriage and made their way out to the Sladen Estate outside the walls of Gallifrey. They were greeted excitedly by the butler and led into the house to where Olivier and Astra kept their bedchamber. There they found Astra sitting up in bed, with Tara sitting crosslegged in the middle of the mattress, and Olivier sitting on the bed's edge holding a tiny bundle in his arm.

"It's about time you got here," Tara smirked. "I need someone around who isn't all weepy or else I'll die."

"You're terribly hypocritical, I hope you realize this," Olivier fired back, not a drop of resentment in his voice. He watched as his in-laws approached, proudly shifting so that the sleeping baby in his grasp was more visible. "Would you like to hold him?"

"Grandpapa and uncles first; I feel a feeding coming on and they can quickly leave without feeling slighted," Astra said. Olivier waited until the Marquis was seated before placing the bundle of baby and blanket in his arms, beaming all the while.

"Jasper, this is your grandpapa," Olivier told the child. Putting a hand on the wisps of hair atop his son's head, he attempted to not break down and cry at the overwhelming joy he was experiencing for the first time. "He's here because he loves you… he loves all of us… and he lives a lot closer than Gran and Grunkle Antoine."

"That's a good way to put it, lad," the Marquis chuckled in agreement. He bounced wee Jasper and the boy opened his eyes a crack, showing that he possessed the same deep, chocolate-colored eyes that his mother inherited from her mother. Switching to the ceremonial tongue, he traced the newborn's features with his little finger, forcing himself to stay dry-eyed as possible. " _May you be the first of many children in your parents' lives, the first of many nephews and nieces for your aunts and uncles to spoil, and the first of many grandstarlets to shine the way for your grandmamma and me in the red of night. You are the Doctors' grandson—currently third in line to the governance chair—and I hope that you never know the pressure, the heartache, and the lonely days that I did. Only know the joys and love that I have, as they light the dark nights bit by bit, until even one's most miserable and tumultuous moments are well-navigable, as it is the best any man or woman can ask for while on this side of the earth_."

"Okay, you know I've been working on the language, but that was a bit beyond my grasp," Olivier smirked. He reached into his pocket and handed his father-in-law a handkerchief, which he took thankfully to dab at the tears dripping from his eyes and into his whiskers. "I think maybe Uncle Seren should have a go before Jasper gets too hungry. What do you say? Let the birthday buddies get acquainted?"

"Before I break down in hysterics, you mean," the Marquis laughed. He kissed his grandson on the forehead and passed him back to Olivier, who then glanced over towards Seren. "Your turn."

"I… I don't want to hold the baby," the boy said, backing away. He accidentally bumped into Lena, who gently pushed him forward.

"Don't be afraid—the only thing he can do is lay there," she said. Leaning down, she put her hands on his shoulders in an attempt to help reassure him. "Take it from a Baby Expert: this is the perfect time."

"Alright…" Seren frowned, unsure if he was convinced. Lena led him over to the settee and sat him down, taking the seat next to him so that she could be there for support. Olivier knelt down in front of Seren and placed Jasper in the boy's grasp, being extremely careful with the transfer.

"There, now isn't that nice?" the new father asked.

"Not really," Seren replied. He stared down at his nephew, who in turn stared up at him, and he scrunched his nose in disappointment. "The way everyone has been acting, I thought this would be more exciting."

"Having a nephew _is_ exciting," Maglina said, coming around to the front of the settee. "We get to help Astra and Olly take care of him, play with him, teach him things… when he stays over in the nursery, he might come and sleep with us as you did."

"…but I'm your _brother_ ," he said. "That's different."

"Not entirely," Lena corrected. "Jasper will love you, and look up to you, just as you did with the rest of us. Now it's your turn to be the older one, the guiding force, and help a mama and papa with nappies and playtime, and eventually mentoring him the best you can."

"I'm not a governess though," Seren scowled. "I don't think I care for babies."

"It's very likely that you shall, in time," Olivier assured him. "Even if you don't like Jasper as he is now, he will quickly grow. He will be breeched before you know it, and by the time you are used to that, he shall be the same age you are now. He shall be the younger brother you never got to have, and even though ten years seems like a lot, it won't be once you're both grown."

Seren turned his attention to Jasper again and found that the babe was sleeping, brow lightly furrowed and mouth barely open. "Can I go now?"

"Yes, although I think it's time for some of us to go," Olivier nodded. He took Jasper and brought him over to Astra, placing the infant in his mother's arms before going and ushering his male in-laws out of the room. "Don't worry, Sterling—you'll get a turn later."

"I'm not too worried," the teen said. "Even if I don't get to hold him today, you still live _here_ , and I'm sure I'll see plenty of him before the Violet Sky."

"Yes, but it's still my birthday," Seren pouted. He turned towards his father as the door to the bedroom was closed, huffing indignantly. "When do I get to have my slae and blueberry pie? Are we going to make it home by dinner? Cook was supposed to make roast boar and rumbledethumps for me tonight!"

"Seren!" the Marquis scolded. "We are here to celebrate a new member of the family! The cook knows where we went and that we might have to wait until tomorrow for your birthday dinner. She is more than willing to put it off, as you should be, as this is a special, extenuating circumstance."

"It's just a stupid baby," the boy scowled.

"That _stupid baby_ happens to outrank us both, I hope you know," Sterling said, stepping in before his father could snap at his little brother. "He makes it easier for us to do whatever we want simply by _existing_ … you can't be cross at him for that."

"But I still don't understand why he had to be born on _my birthday_ , interrupting _my things_ , taking away _my_ …!" Seren stopped when he heard Jasper cry, the infant on the other side of the door finally wanting his milk. "I can't even _argue_ without him butting in now! And you say I should let him! It's not fair!"

Before anyone could admonish the boy he stormed off, going down the corridor and shutting himself in a room. Olivier, Sterling, and the Marquis all glanced at one another uneasily, knowing that the next part of the conversation was not going to be easy.

"Should anyone go talk to him?" Sterling pondered.

"No, let him be," the Marquis sighed in resignation. "The lad has not only your mama's stubbornness, but mine as well; that's a dangerous combination if there has ever been one."

"Was anyone else like this, might I ask?" Olivier wondered. The Marquis shook his head.

"They were either excited or too young to realize what was happening," he explained. The three were now walking down the corridor towards the staircase, ready to being a late breakfast. "Seren should understand in time—he is too bright a lad to **_not_**."

"I hope you're right about that, Papa, or this is going to become a very tense time in the coming years," Sterling said sadly. "Don't worry, Olly; we'll keep working on him."

"Thanks, I appreciate it," the other young man responded. "Now, let's get some food in you two before you fall over. Next time you rush over without eating something, I will tie you down into a chair myself and make sure that you have a full-course meal before allowing you to see anyone."

It was a threat that his guests were glad to have lobbed their way.

* * *

Back in Olivier and Astra's quarters, Jasper had just finished feeding and was being passed to the Marchioness for safekeeping. The new grandmother marveled over the babe in her arms, completely smitten.

"He's going to be such a good boy, Astra, I can feel it," she said.

"Thank you," Astra grinned. Her attention then shifted towards the door. "Will Seren be alright? I've never seen him like this."

"He is simply learning what it is like to no longer be the baby of the family," the Marchioness said, not taking her eyes off Jasper. "Your father had wanted to get Maglina a pet to prevent the same thing happening in her before Seren came along, but she got Malcolm instead."

" _That's_ why I have Malcolm?!" Maglina marveled, thinking to her stuffed rabbit toy sitting on her bed at the castle.

"It would seem," Lena chuckled. "Too bad Papa misjudged which of his children would need the practice more than another. Seren would have probably done well with a cat or small dog."

"No," the Marchioness interjected. She ran her fingers over Jasper's hair and gently held him a bit closer. "If none of the rest of you had personal pets, then it would have been unfair to allow Seren to own one. The amount of children that we had made it so that you all would have to make do with the castle hounds and mousers and whatnot if you wanted pets; there's little worse than claiming responsibility for an animal and then ignoring it to the point where another cares for it. Good of a boy as Seren is, he would have definitely had the maids caring for a pet had we given him one."

The sisters all considered that and nodded in agreement—their mother had a point.

"Just give him time," Lena said. "He'll warm up to Jasper eventually, just like we warmed up to him."

"I hope he does," Astra frowned in worry. The new mother watched as her son was passed from grandmother to eldest aunt, hoping that the youngest uncle, wherever he ended up, would come around eventually.

* * *

In a darkened bedroom, Seren laid on the bed and pouted. Despite the fact the mattress had been stripped since the last time he spent time there, he had found a pillow and large blanket, curling up so that he was a lump of warmth in the chilled room. A blue sky outside poked through a slit in the drapes, soon to be replaced by the violet that he knew well to dominate his birthday hours.

' _It's not fair_ ,' the boy thought. ' _We should be here tomorrow, not today. I should be able to celebrate my birthday_ _ **properly**_ _! Why can't…!_ '

He stopped his internal grousing when he heard the door click open and footsteps cross the room. The mattress shifted and he felt a hand grab at his ankle and wiggle it.

"Seren? Are you alright?" It was Olivier.

"Leave me alone."

"Astra's worried about you; we're all worried about you." A grunt met him in reply. "Are you hungry? Your papa said that you didn't get a chance to eat any breakfast."

Silence passed between them and Olivier eventually sighed. "If you feel like joining the rest of us, you know where to look, yeah? Someone will come back to get you around dinner if we don't hear from you." He stood and began to walk back towards the door, only for Seren to sit up and cut him off.

"Why did Jasper have to be born _today_?" he asked. "I thought he was going to be born closer to the Violet Sky, but he stole my birthday instead."

"We all thought that he would be born later, but sometimes babies come early," Olivier explained. "It's no one's fault, you know. He didn't do it on purpose. Jasper is not a thief."

"He sure does feel like it." Seren slumped back over and covered himself with the blanket again, listening for when Olivier walked out of the room. The lad went to sleep in a fit of rage, wanting to forget everything that had happened that day.

When he awoke, Seren found that there was a fire in the hearth and a tray sitting out for him with cold tea and sandwiches. He nibbled cautiously, watching the violet in the sky grow deeper as the day came to a close.

Babies, he decided, were definitely not his most favorite thing in the world.


	50. Changing of the Guard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter in particular ties up a couple loose ends when it comes to actions/positions when it comes to Johan, Clara, and their brood in the future, as I had kinda jumped into everything without really explaining too much so here we are.
> 
> Since this chapter takes place a bit over a month after ch.49, The Thief, rough ages are the same, which are: Johan at 73, Clara at 54, Olivier at 29, Lena at 23, Astra/Tara at 21, Sterling at an old 17, Maglina at 15, Seren at 10, and Jasper is a newborn.

It was the red of night as the Marquis and Marchioness lay in their bed, indulgently lazing after demonstrating their love and devotion towards one another. Despite aching bones and aging bodies, it was an act they continued to enjoy, regardless of the fact many would have not blamed them for setting aside that particular part of their relationship. There were couples younger than them who had already slowed their physical affection in a much more drastic manner despite not losing the emotional connection, yet they knew that they would continue for as long as they could, telling common sense and their creaky joints to mind their own business, and they would enjoy it all the while.

It was only just when the Marquis began to slowly pepper his wife’s body with kisses—however—was there something that occurred to bring them away from one another. A soft whimper came from the open nursery door, prompting him to halt his second wind of desire and shift himself off the Marchioness. He put on his robe and padded into the nursey, where their grandson was waving his fists around in irritation as he lay in the cot of his ancestors. He plucked the boy from his bed and held him gently in his arms; a well-practiced hand at the act.

“Such a dutiful grandfather,” the Marchioness chuckled. Her husband glanced over to see that she had followed him once she put her own robe on. The two then sat together on a large armchair, with the Marquis putting his free arm around the Marchioness as he idly bounced Jasper in the other. “This is the seventh child that shares our blood—how did we get so lucky?”

“I do not know, but what I am aware of is how fortunate I truly am to have the wife and children I do, only compounded by the presence of this beautiful little one.” The Marquis smiled softly at his grandson, who was in their care so that his parents could sleep through a few nights without worry. “Now we have a whole new set of nappies and firsts and lessons to impart. What new challenges shall follow our grandson?”

“Outrunning anyone and everyone, most likely,” the Marchioness smirked. She rested her head on her husband’s chest as she gently rubbed Jasper’s cheek with a finger. “Juggling the children and our duties to the lands was difficult. No wonder Papa’s wife said we were insane.”

“Linda is a creature that has little experience where we have plenty,” he mentioned. “Things might have been different with her had circumstances been so, but for now, I accept her words as merely that: the words of a childless crone unwilling to accept worldviews that are not her own. There is no use in dwelling on the past, especially when it comes to her.” He kissed the side of his wife’s head, lips lingering as the babe in his arms stilled into sleep. A thought crossed his mind, pulling on both his hearts, as he murmured into her hair, “We should talk.”

“…about…?”

“What we are to do, now that this little one has come into our lives.” He stood and put the infant back into the cot, then turning and holding his arms open. “What do you say?”

She went into his arms and returned the embrace—they would stand by one another until the end of time itself.

* * *

Morning broke and the Marquis and Marchioness quietly reaffirmed what they had exchanged across their pillows the previous night as they readied for the day. A maid brought a warm bottle of cow’s milk from the kitchens for Jasper and the grandparents made sure the boy was content and fed before bringing him with them down to their breakfast. Their other five children were already there, waiting patiently for them to arrive.

“It’s about time—I’m nearly ready to fall over,” Seren muttered. He began scooping himself up some eggs, while his elder siblings let their parents sit down before taking anything for themselves.

“Do you need me to hold Jasper while you eat, Mama?” Maglina offered. The Marchioness shook her head.

“I could do it with all of you; I can do it with Jasper,” she replied firmly. The weight of a child against her chest as she served herself breakfast was comforting and nostalgic—she did not have to give it up quite yet and for that she was eternally grateful.

“Is Astra taking Jasper home after she is done here for the day?” Lena asked between bites of bacon. “If she does or not dictates how long I will keep her when it comes to going over the previous year’s books.”

“That is what was planned, but there is still something your father and I wish to discuss with you… _all_ of you,” the Marchioness replied. The faintest smile quirked the corner of her mouth upwards, causing her children’s hearts to skip a beat.

“Stars, that’s ominous.”

“Lena, starlet, let your mama finish,” the Marquis scolded gently. “Clara?”

“Yes, thank you,” she nodded, continuing to load her plate as she talked. “Well, your papa and I have been discussing this very important matter—all night and this morning, in fact—and we’ve decided that since we now have our first grandchild, we are going to retire to help take care of him.”

The room grew silent as the information sank in, the only sounds being that of the Marquis and Marchioness with their breakfasts. Exchanging looks amongst themselves, their children were not entirely sure how to react.

“Retire…?” Seren wondered. “You mean you’re not going to work? You always work.”

“It means that our jobs will involve taking care of you and Maglina and Jasper, only performing official business on rare occasion,” his mother explained. “I have been at my duty for almost thirty years, and your papa for over fifty; no one can blame us for wanting to spend time with our family, especially now that it’s growing.”

“…does Astra know about this?” Lena asked. There was an undercurrent of rage in her voice, one that required her to wear her lady’s mask to keep her voice level.

“Not yet—we were going to talk with her and Olly separately,” the Marquis said. At that, his eldest left her seat and just barely stormed from the room.

“Should I go after her, Mama?” Sterling asked.

“No, let her be. This is between sisters,” the Marchioness said. “Besides, I want to hear what you think.”

“This is a _disaster_ ,” Seren said, not waiting for his brother’s response. He hit the table with his palms and stood, furrowing his brow. “Bad enough this baby has stolen my birthday, the nursery, my old toys, everyone’s attention, but now your _jobs_?! It’s stolen everything!”

“Jasper has stolen _nothing_ ,” the Marchioness frowned. “Astra was your age when I was expecting you and now I expect you to show her and her child the same respect.”

“It’s still not _fair_!”

“Seren, room, _now_ ,” the Marquis scowled, pointing at the door. His youngest stomped out half in tears, leaving the remaining two children to sit with their parents awkwardly.

“Well, _I think_ it’s lovely,” Maglina said, trying to break the tension. “Astra and Olly are going to be thrilled! Now they won’t have to worry about finding a governess if they don’t think they can keep Jasper with them during the daytime. There are plenty of good people in Gallifrey, but I don’t think there’s many you could trust when it comes to raising a child so closely like that.”

“Well, they’ll be grateful for the childcare at the very least,” Sterling added. He fidgeted in his seat, trying not to blush. “You and Papa will watch over all of our children, right Mama?”

“Of course,” she affirmed. “Why? Are you considering finding a wife soon?” Her grin widened cheekily as he shrank in his seat, already knowing the answer to her question.

“N-no,” he stammered. “M-mama, I’m only seventeen.”

“Nearly eighteen, and Astra was nineteen when she met Olly,” his father noted. He pretended to not remember the lad’s crush on his classmate Oriana, knowing that anything that occurred between the two would have to be natural in order for their happiness to remain intact. “There’s no shame in having someone in mind, let alone wanting to explore your options. Did you wish to attend the National Ball this year to get a glimpse of the young women your age whom are available for courting?”

“I’m unsure,” he mumbled.

“Sterling, you’re going to escort Ori and me in two years, so you might want to practice,” Maglina said matter-of-factly. “I know you need more time to prepare than most, so this is as much notice as you’re going to get.”

“Thanks Maggie,” he replied sarcastically. “I don’t know how many suitors you’ll get with your brother on your arm.”

“More than you’ll get cooped up in the library,” she snarked back. “I love books too, but at least I can read them in other places, hiding from my siblings and friend.”

“Children, behave,” the Marchioness said, cutting her son off before he could retort. She felt Jasper gum her shoulder through her dress, slightly dampening the fabric, which caused her to kiss the side of his head. “If you want to bicker about petty things, do it elsewhere. It would be a shame for Jasper to always remember his aunt and uncle sniping at one another.”

“Mama, he’s six weeks old.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she told Sterling. “Now eat your breakfast or leave; it is your choice, for both of you.”

Sterling and Maglina knew that it was not their choice in the slightest and returned to their breakfast, not wanting to push their mother any further towards ire and get the same punishment as Seren.

* * *

Listening to her horse’s shoes click and clack against the flagstones, Astra rode calmly towards Castle Gallifrey—her ancestral-home-now-workplace—in the frigid morning twilight. With an entire night’s decent rest behind her, she felt leagues better than she had for at least a few months thanks to carrying her son, birthing him, and the seemingly constant feedings that had occurred immediately afterwards. Now that he was nearly a month old, she had accepted the offer for her parents to watch the child and feed him cow’s milk, allowing her and Olivier two precious nights of complete and total rest. It was nearly like a dream, and although she was going to be happy to carry her son home again later in the afternoon, a part of her could not wait until the next time Grandmamma and Grandpapa wished to watch over the baby.

Coming into the castle stables, she handed the reins of her horse to one of the servants and dismounted, ready to tackle the day ahead. She took her bag from the saddle and went into the warm castle, going through the main halls until she arrived at the office she shared with another woman, who was already there.

“Morning,” Astra said cheerily while undoing her coat clasps. She saw the look on her coworker’s face and raised an eyebrow curiously. “What…?”

“You might want to go see the Earlessa soon as you are able,” her officemate warned.

“Why? Is there something wrong?”

“I didn’t think anything seemed off when I came in this morning, but she still seemed _exceptionally_ cross. Maybe it’s a sister thing…?”

“I hope; be right back.” Astra then placed her things down on the desk and left the room, going through the corridors until she found Lena’s public office. Sure enough, there was her sister, crossly glaring out the window in one of their father’s signature scowls. “I heard you tried to find me earlier?”

Lena continued to stare out the window, which threw up red flags within her sister’s brain. Astra sat down in one of the visitor’s seats with caution, keeping an eye on Lena, for this was not a good sign. The room remained silent, the only noise coming in from the outside corridor.

“Did you put them up to it?” Lena finally asked. She turned in her seat and stared Astra down.

“Put whom up to what?”

“Did you put them up to it?” she repeated.

“I put no one up to anything,” Astra frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a conversation that Mama and Papa had with the rest of us over breakfast,” the elder sister said. She straightened some papers on her desk compulsively in order to stay calm. “Are you sure you have no idea as to what that could be?”

“Fairly; what happened?”

“What _happened_ , dearest sister, is that our parents have taken back their promise.” It was an effort to stay calm despite the fact she knew she had to in order to have a fruitful conversation. “They wish to give up their coronets _next month_ in order to take care of _your son_ full-time.”

“I thought they were going to wait until you were married before having you created Marchioness…”

“Now that they have their _grandstarlet_ , that seems to not matter anymore.”

“…you surely don’t think…!” Astra gasped.

“I’m not entirely sure what to think,” Lena snapped back. “Last night at dinner they were perfectly content to let things go as we all had planned—no word as to otherwise—and now this morning they’re talking retirement! I could need only one more year, maybe five or ten, but you _know_ how difficult it is for a woman to find a suitable marriage partner once they’ve gained a title! By this time next month you will be the Earlessa, with a loving husband and newborn child, while I’m the Crone Marchioness, withering away until I can hand over my title to my _nephew_ instead of my own child!”

“You aren’t seriously blaming me for this, are you?!”

“Who am I going to blame? Jasper? He is not old enough to be blamed for more than smells wafting up from his nappy. Olly? It _is_ his presence that means that you have married before I have, let alone given birth, but he is _also_ only simple as all men are when they are truly in love…”

“How about: _Mama and Papa_?” Astra deadpanned.

“Oh, they are definitely in the blame, but I know there is more to all of this than a simple matter of them changing their minds at a whim!”

“Maybe it is! Did you _talk_ to them about it?!”

“No, I…”

Lena stopped her tirade, all her nerves and emotions finally catching up to her. She stared at her sister from across her desk—the very last person with whom she knew she should ever quarrel with—and her eyes began to well with tears. Averting her red-rimmed eyes towards the edge of the desk, she pursed her lips and attempted to not cry. She felt _horrid_ , and there was no way to get around that.

Before she could grasp what was happening, Lena found herself being hugged by Astra, her sister having come around the desk and hunching over the chair in order to reach her. Lena stood and the sisters were able to embrace properly, with the elder sobbing into the younger’s shoulder.

“Lena… please… you’re a wreck…”

“I—I’m sorry; please forgive me.”

“You did nothing a wee bit of tea won’t fix,” Astra assured. She led Lena over to a sofa along the wall and ordered tea for them both, asking the attending servant to be discreet about their earlessa’s state. After making sure Lena had a cup in her system, she held her hand and squeezed it tightly. “Is that at least a little better?”

“Yeah,” Lena sniffled. She felt a fool, sitting there as they were: the over-emotional earlessa and her even-headed heir. “I don’t know how you put up with me.”

“The same way I put up with Tara: _carefully_ ,” Astra chuckled. She let go of her sister’s hand and began to fix them both more tea. It was comforting to be able to keep her hands busy, a trait she knew came from their father and his inability to sit still. “Have you had a suitor lately? There was nothing about one in your letters while Olly and I were in Rhylls.”

“No,” she admitted quietly. “Although I understand it is distinctly part of my position as Papa and Mama’s heir to marry and produce an heir of my own, whose education in governance I am expressly responsible for in order to responsibly continue the line, the closest I’ve gotten has been sizing up serdars and lesser lords from afar.” She took back her cup and drank more tea, letting the warmth steel her. “Whomever I choose has to be intelligent and respectful, without eyes for power, and needs to understand what sort of position I’m in… what _we’re in_ , as a family, before I even think about approaching him. I know how dangerous love is and I need to calculate my risks accordingly.”

“You’re an idiot, just like our Papa,” Astra sighed. “I thought we had long ago agreed that you would threaten people with my children as your heirs in case you didn’t find someone. What happened?”

“I guess… seeing you get married and being happy with Olly, seeing Jasper now that he’s born, seeing that life truly was going towards that and… it scares me,” Lena muttered. “You’re so happy, and while I’m glad you are—don’t misunderstand—the thought that I may never have that is now a very real thing and not simply some jest. I know that I don’t need it for myself, yet what would it be like if I age into barrenness without producing an heir? Could the people think poorly of it? See me as selfish?”

“If you worry about it too much for too long, it’ll only drive you to make poor decisions,” Astra warned. “Mama told me that when Olly and I were engaged. I guess it’s a good thing I know that, considering the circumstances. Of all the things, don’t make poor decisions about who you want to meet on the wedding platform.”

“I’ll do my best; thank you.”

The sisters hugged, both teary-eyed and a bit sniffly, glad to know that they were going to be fine.

* * *

A few weeks later and Kasterborous and Gallifrey were sent into a tizzy. After fifty-four years of being their liege Marquis and Doctor, Lord Johan Lonan was ready to step down and hand the coronet to his eldest child. The ceremony was to be held on the anniversary of his marriage to Lady Clara Oswald, an event now thirty years in the past; it was to be an occasion that would not only celebrate the past, but usher in the march’s future. Few people had thought the day would ever arrive back when he had accepted his late father’s duty, while fewer yet believed it possible to have the celebration without going into mourning first. Instead, things were stable, no fuss was made over who was to rise to the former lord’s place, and nothing had to be rushed—it was more ideal than anyone imagined.

As it happened, the day of the ceremony was just as fair and breathtakingly gorgeous as it had been three decades prior. Before a hall packed with lesser lords and ladies, the Lady Lena Anthea strode into view, taking her spot atop the governance dais, her parents following not long after. His Royal Majesty did the honors of removing the coronet first from the bowing Lord Johan’s brow, then from Lady Clara’s, before finally bestowing Lady Lena with the Marchioness’s coronet. His swore his new keeper of the borderlands in at that moment, granting her nearly all his power for the good of the Earldom and City of Gallifrey, the March of Kasterborous, and the entire kingdom’s safety and security. She was now his first line of defense against belligerent invaders… and with any luck, the only defense they required.

What followed was two straight days of celebrating, with little being done far as governance and protocols while festivities went late into the night and begun again early the following day. Though there was a ceremony on the second day where the Lady Mrs. Astra Peladon-Lakertya was officially created the new Earlessa of Gallifrey, few were actually able to recall the fact due to hungover heads and weary bodies. Not a soul blamed them—sober or not—and the passing of the highest Gallifreyan duty stayed on the lips of locals and kingdom subjects alike for years and years to come.


End file.
